Morning after
by change-it-all
Summary: John and Sherlock's lives are turned upsidown when they wake up handcuffed together outside Buckingham Palace and a video from last nights drunken party is leaked
1. Where are you Johnny?

_Laughing. Uncontrollable laughter..._

Car horns screamed as they whirled past.

_Something cold slipping around my finger..._

People, making mindless chatter.

_His face, coming so close..._

John would have woken up straight away but he had to wait for the world to stop spinning around in his head first. Hard cement pushed against the back of his head as the pounding flash of lights exploded into his eyes. He heard the familiar click of camera's and the not so familiar sound of mocking voices. John let his eyes slide open and instantly regretted it. The doctor found himself staring up at the grand black and gold gates that could only surround one building, Buckingham palace.

_What...? _John desperately sorted through his clouded mind, trying to make sense of things. Last night had been the London police forces annual awards night. John remembered the invitation coming through in the mail and Sherlock wrinkling his nose up at it like Lestrade had mailed him a dead rat.

"Throw it away. I get sent one of these every year. This 'awards' night is just an excuse to have one last celebration together where they can all give each over awards and a pat on the back and make themselves feel a little accomplishment in their dull lives before the year is out" Sherlock grumbled from his perch on the couch. Offcourse John convinced him to go, who could say no to a big blue eyed man in a teddy bear sweater?

_How did we get from the precinct... to Buckingham? _John thought. Then it stuck him. Why did I just think 'we'. A long skinny figure stirred next to him. _Oh god, kill me now_. Sherlock's dark curls were matted and twisted, bits and pieces of food clinging for dear life onto his scalp. He slept with his back up against the dark iron bars, his ghostly pale face titled up to the sky and a slither of drool running down the side of his open, snoring mouth. A long pink party streamer replaced his usual blue scarf, hanging in a noose around his neck. Something was scrawled across Sherlock's forehead but John's eyes couldn't focus long enough to read what it said.

John thanked the lord that he woke before his flatmate, because a normal person reacting to this sort of situation wouldn't be pretty and Sherlock wasn't normal. He made a move to get up. **CHINK! **A sudden jerk yanked John back. His feet failed him and he went crashing down. _Maybe I'm not as sober as I thought..._ He looked down to his wrist to find another surprise. A pair of shiny metal handcuffs twinkled up a cheerful good morning to him. That wasn't the scary part, no. the scary part was that the other cuff was being occupied by the unconscious consulting detective in next to him.

A sudden 'slorking' noise made John jump violently.

"John..." That deep voice murmured.

"Sherlock" John said, looking over at his partner. "Glad to see you're awake"

Sherlock's eyes were different. They had a gleam in them he never seemed to posses, that gleam that his mind was off in wonderland.

"John" He said again. "Your face. It's all... liney" The detective slurred.

"Liney?" John repeated. So, this is what drunk Sherlock was like. The detective held his flatmates stare as he tried to raise his hand. **CHINK! **Sherlock's eyes flew down to his wrist. Suddenly, John felt himself being hoisted to his feet, his face smashing into bars. Sherlock was on his feet, fingers pressing into his temple.

"Handcuffs? No..." Sherlock's eyes went wide, forcing drunk Sherly back down the drain. "No no no no" He repeated to himself. "This isn't what happened. I remember it... we were at the precinct and they were handing out drinks and that's when you said..." Sherlock's glare shot to John. "You said I should have drink to calm my nerves!" He roared angrily.

"What? So this is my fault now?"John growled back.

"If you hadn't forced that drink on me..." Sherlock started.

"I didn't! It was one drink! And that wasn't me who gave it to you anyway"

"Yes it was. You handed it to me and said 'just to calm your nerves'" The detective shouted.

"Anderson gave it to me to give to..." The penny dropped.

"Anderson" They both cursed. Sherlock fidgeted uncomfortably and began to tug at the fabric around his thighs.

"What?" John asked.

"Its these pants..." Sherlock grunted. "They feel funny" John knew why.

"Are you wearing my pants?" He squeaked, his voice catching in his throat.

"It is possible" Sherlock mumbled. Possible was the understatement of the year. The pant legs ended up around Sherlock's calves and the waist band struggled to keep hold of Sherlock's thin hips. The most supporting of all evidence was the fact that John was wearing Sherlock's. John felt his legs fail him once again and he crumpled to the ground.

_This cannot be happening... Sherlock and I didn't... we couldn't have, he is Sherlock for crying out loud! _He cupped his hand over his face, not daring to meet eyes with his flatmate.

"John. I understand you are having trouble comprehending our situation and are responding in a typical way that any man your age would, by having a 'melt-down' but I need you to send a text" Sherlock said from above. John ran his fingers through his hair and took a few deep breathes. _I have to stay calm. The last thing I want is Sherlock to see me cowering up like a child. _

"Pass me your phone" John said with a sigh, holding out his free palm.

"In my trouser pocket" Sherlock stated. John bit down on his lip as his stomach knotted again in panic, another reminder of that worried feeling. He dipped his hand into the pocket of his oversized pants and pulled out the sleek mobile phone.

"Sherlock. You might want to look at this" John muttered. Sherlock didn't have to crane his neck, the handcuff's were doing their job of keeping them both close together perfectly. There was a blurry frame with a small triangle in the centre. A video shot from last night. John held his breathe and pressed play.

"HEY SHERLY!" The pair immediately recognised Anderson's voice. Since he wasn't in the frame he must have been holding the camera. The image of a large chapel shook under the officers drunken grasp.

"Sherly! Oi! Sherly!" The doors to the chapel swung open and two figures were seen stumbling towards Anderson but it was too dark to get a good look. Suddenly, one of them fell to the ground and in a heap of laughter. "You alright there Sherly?" Anderson asked between fits of chuckles. The camera zeroed in as the intoxicated persons face came into view. Sherlock felt his heart fall into his stomach.

"Andy! Andy my lad? What are you doing up in the sky?" Drunk Sherlock asked in a dazzled tone. The consulting detectives eyes were so wide you could see all the whites wrapping around the icy blue and then to the over stimulated pupils. The two broke out into furious laughter like Sherlock had told the most world class joke on earth. Sherlock rolled around a bit before sitting up with a big stupid grin on his face. "You know what Andy?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" Anderson replied, making sure to keep the camera fixed perfectly on Sherlock.

"I'm sah... so sorry that you couldn't come, mate" Sherlock said, a dopey pout spreading out across his features.

"Couldn't come where?"

"To the wedding offcourse" Sherlock stumbled back onto his feet, amazed as he began to rock back and forth.

"Wedding? Who's the bride?" Sherlock didn't reply, he was giggling about something. "Who's the bride?" Anderson asked again, pocking Sherlock. "Who is she?" Sherlock turned to face the camera and put a finger to his lips.

"Can you keep a secret?" He whispered.

"Yeah, yeah" Anderson whispered back, getting in close. The camera had now entirely swallowed up Sherlock's face.

Sherlock Holmes then said one word. One name. The name that made them both freeze. The name that made time feel like it had stopped itself.

"John" Sherlock shouted into the night. "Where are you my bride? JOHNNY!" He sung in a voice that almost fit Moriarty's. Sherlock tore himself free from Anderson and started to skip merely under a nearby street lamp. "I know you are out there John, my little wife"

"I'm not little!" The camera dramatically spun to face the other way. John stood with a bouquet of flowers stuffed down the front of his shirt.

"Johnny! I thought you had run off with another man!" Sherlock called back in a horribly dramatic voice.

"Another man you say? No other man could work a purple shirt like you my darling" John said, gesturing towards the other way. Sherlock's face lit up with that idiotic grin again and he began to trot towards his drunken friend. Anderson's laugh could be heard as John broke into an equally sloppy run. Sherlock stretched out his arms and locked them around John's frame. John squeezed his flatmate to himself and buried his face into the crook of Sherlock's neck.

"I looooooove you John. You are mine. You are my John" Sherlock moaned in a way similar to a possessive child. John laughed and rocked himself back and forth in Sherlock's arms. What came next made John's fingers become numb because he simply couldn't watch any longer. Sherlock was leaning in for a kiss and the smaller man in his arms obliged.

The phone clattered to the ground. John and Sherlock's eyes met and for the first time in his life, John saw pure fear spread out across Sherlock's features.

"Sherlock. What does my forehead say?" He asked, his voice shaking. Sherlock's eyes bounced up and down from John's eyes, to his feet, to his forehead.

"Just" Sherlock stated.

"I was afraid you were going to say that" John muttered.

"Why?"

"Because yours says 'married'"


	2. I heart London

The phone sat across from them. Just sitting there. Mocking them. The newlyweds tried to get as much space between each over as possible. Sherlock was sitting in his thinking position, his eyebrows occasionally knitting together as the web in his mind sewed the pieces of his memories together. It amazed John that Sherlock was even attempting to think clearly. He could feel the effects of his own hangover were already kicking in. The phone suddenly ringing into life startled both of them. Sherlock didn't seem to be in any condition to reach over and get it but the piercing chimes were starting to sound more like a gunshot to John. He reached forward and snatched it off the pavement.

"Hello?" He rasped into the receiver.

"Dr Watson. Where is Sherlock? Where are you?" It was Lestrade.

"Well… it's hard to explain. We are in a bit of a situation"

"I got your message last night. Where is Anderson?"

"Anderson?" The mention of his name made Sherlock grumble something quite horrible under his breath. "We lost track of him. Look. We are at Buckingham palace and we need some help"

"Let me guess, you are handcuffed to the gates?" John felt a blush burn on his cheeks, did all of London know about this?

"How did you…"

"I got a very interesting photo sent to me at around 3 in the morning last night"

"Oh god…" John grumbled.

"Oh yes. I think you two have a lot of explaining to do" John let out a long groan.

"Listen Lestrade. Sherlock isn't doing too well right now, we need a car and a set of keys to get these bloody cuffs off"

"On it. We will send someone over to pick you up" The line went dead. John glanced over at Sherlock.

_We messed up big time_. John scrolled down the screen and found the message button. John didn't have to read the content of the many texts sent out to know that he and his flatmate were officially screwed. Lucky for them Sherlock didn't have many people willing to share contacts with him.

Something around his finger caught the light, gleaming gold in the early morning sun. John dropped the phone and held out his hand. It was the completely wrong moment, time and place but he found himself laughing.

"What is so funny?" Sherlock grumbled, looking up from glaring at the pavement. John smiled weakly and held out his hand, exposing the smooth gold ring.

"Even when we were completely waisted, you still managed to find rings for our ceremony. You can be truly amazing sometimes" He chuckled lightly. Sherlock held out his own hand, a matching halo around his ring finger.

"But they do have the words 'I 3 LONDON' printed on the back" John watched as Sherlock began to slowly slide chunks of appetizers from last night out of his curls. _Married. I'm married to Sherlock Holmes. _He thought about it but just couldn't believe it.

"You don't think what happened last night actually…"

"Yes. Yes I do" Sherlock said plainly. "We have photographic evidence," he nodded towards the little black phone of scandal "right there"

"So that means you and I…."

"Yes. We kissed"

"I was going to say 'are married'"

"Oh..." Sherlock suddenly found something amazing to stare at on his shoe "Me too" A loud screeching of tires cut through the awkward silence like a hot knife through butter. John looked up in hope that it was Lestrade coming to save them like a knight in shining armour. No such luck. A sleek black limo pulled up a stone's throw away. The passenger door clicked open.

Mycroft strolled over, his head tilted back confidently and his hand tucked neatly into his pocket. His walking cane's taps hummed along with his footsteps, swinging back and forth cheerfully. Mr Holmes was having a jolly old time.

"Well if it isn't my big brother" Sherlock grumbled. He shifted to sit up straight and put on the best pokerface he could manage. Mycroft came to stop, standing cockily over Sherlock.

"That's right. I got a text from Lestrade that someone needed saving"

"I don't need your help. I am perfectly comfortable here. It is good to get outdoors once in a while" Sherlock leaned back against the bars stubbornly.

"Actually your help would be pretty good right about now" John added in but right now he felt somewhat non-existent.

"Come on Sherlock, save yourself the embarrassment and admit that you need my help" Mycroft drawled, he was practically glowing with joy. Sherlock looked up at Mycroft. From the look in his eyes, John could tell that Sherlock wasn't going to budge. "Alrighty then" Mycroft shifted into a squat before them, holding out his own phone.

"Message sent from Sherlock Holmes at 12:30 am- CROFTY, u no how I always say dat u r fat? Well, u aint fat. U just flufffffy 3" As Mycroft read out the humiliating text in a painfully slow pace, Sherlock kept to his guns and his expression didn't waver.

"If you are trying to make me feel self-conscious than your efforts will be futile" Sherlock spat. Mycroft accepted Sherlock's challenge.

"Really? Cos' I have a great one for you" He switched over to voice mail. "I got this one at 3 in the morning" He pressed the listen button.

"Crofty! Crofty… you, yoouuuuu thought that I would be virgin for evers, didn't you crofy" It was definitely Sherlock's voice, slipping and sliding in a ghastly slur. "But yah know what the problem was? I didn't have someone! And yah know what? NOW I DO! SO SUCK IT!" There was on odd crackling noise and a muffled shout. The words 'talk to him' could be heard and little sound of protest but the receiver then picked up another voice.

"Hello Holmes? I just have one thing to say" It was John this time. "Your brother. YOUR BROTHER has the cutest cheek bones"

"Oh god, turn that off" The hung-over and now humiliated John plead.

"I mean they are so high! SO VERY HIGH!" The drunk John continued into the phone.

"Stop poking me in the face" Sherlock's voice could be heard in the background.

"….so very high!" John sang in a high pitched voice before the line cut off. Sherlock shrugged.

"Is that it then? You might want to head off before you get a sunburn Mycroft"

"Oh no, I saved the best for last" Mycroft turned the screen back to face himself, his fingers flying through the buttons.

"Sherlock" John hissed. "Stop being so childish and do what he says" Sherlock ignored him.

"Are you sure you don't want to take your **husband's** advice?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock glared at his brother.

"How do you know about that?" John asked, having a feeling that Sherlock already knew the answer. Mycroft showed them a picture.

It started at his cheeks and then flushed out over his ears, that warm burning sensation that John knew was a blush. The photo was a little blurry but the flash of the camera shed a bright light on the scene. John had a startled look on his face in the frame, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Sherlock had his hand held firmly on the small doctors shoulder and had pulled him in. Sherlock had his lips planted sloppily under John's jaw, the side of his tong just visible on John's flesh. The photo was an obviously taken by Sherlock, the length of his arm visible in the corner. And just to top the cake, the message bellow it read '_Selfies wit mah wife Jawn, lol text it :D'_. Mycroft grinned.

"Are you ready to go now Sherlock?" He asked.

Sherlock looked up at his older brother. His expression did not waver. The area around them went still as Sherlock opened his mouth to speak.

"I…" Sherlock's eyes bulged and his back arched. Mycroft pulled himself back but it was too late. Sherlock coughed and spluttered as the contents of his stomach was heaved up on his brother's shoes. John recoiled as the alcohol and god knows what splashed onto the ground around them, forming a rancid smell in the air.

"I think he is ready now" John muttered.


	3. PDA

_**Oh hi there. Yes, this is the author. Thanks for all the reviews, I mean I only wrote this for shits and giggles but it got more reviews than any other of my small time fanfics so I'm going to continue it. Expect a chapter every couple of nights and stay tuned cus' shits about to go down! BTW- P.D.A is Australian slang for Public Display of Affection and I would highly recommend you watch the tutorial for the 'yes' dance sometime between this chapter and the next**_.

"It is impossible. There is no way a parish would allow us to get married. We were completely pissed drunk!" John sat in the back seat of the limo, facing Mycroft. After making a complete ass of himself, Sherlock had decided to detach himself from the real world. He sat in the far corner of the car, staring out of the tinted windows and not even bothering to commit to the conversation.

"It is quite possible. It has been legal for same sex marriage in Britain for a while now and I am sure the tiny detail that you were waisted wasn't going to stop the parish from denying your rights to be betrothed" Mycroft had a small glass of whisky sitting firmly in his hand. The very smell was making John's head splinter. Mr Holmes took a sip and nodded towards Sherlock. "I'm afraid there are no loop wholes around it. Congratulations Mr Watson, you married my fruit cake brother"

John let his head fall into his hands. "How bad is the damage?"

"Hm?"

"The damage Mycroft" John growled. "Lestrade said he got a message and you obviously did. Who else knows about all of this?"

Mycroft put his nestled his drink into a nearby cup holder. He sat forward in his seat and stared John down. "How much do you remember from last night?" John scoffed. Answering a question with another question, how Holmes typical.

"Ah… I guess I remember getting a cab over to the precinct and getting seated at the table…."

"No after that. When did the memories start to get hazy?" Mycroft asked, bored with all the little details.

"When Sherlock went up to make his speech. That's when it all started to get blurry" John rubbed his temple. There was a memory squirming around in the back of his mind just trying to get out but no matter how hard he tried, the memory just kept slipping away.

"Well that makes sense" Mycroft muttered, possibly to himself.

"What does?"

"Things getting blurry when Sherlock was going up to make his speech"

"Mycroft, I know Sherlock and you love to do this aloof mystery thing where you 'always leave people guessing' but I am hung over, married and I have Sherlock's vomit on me. Could you please just explain things to me in plain English?" John raged loud enough to even cause Sherlock to stir.

Mycroft nodded. "It is unlike my brother to drink. In fact I have never seen him do an out of character thing ever before in his life. Someone must have spiked your drinks"

"No shit" John said sarcastically. "We already have an idea about who would have done that"

"Anderson. Lestrade sensed something was up. Lucky for you he was picked up passed out on a bench in the London Underground close to Piccadilly circuit"

"THE UNDERGROUND!" Mycroft and John flinched as Sherlock sprang into life. "Mycroft stop the car!"

"Calm down Sherlock. You are hung over" Mycroft brushed Sherlock off with a sip of his whisky.

"The underground subway beneath Piccadilly circuit! That's where it is!"

"Did you not hear the conversation I just had with your brother?" John shouted. "WHERE IS WHAT?"

Sherlock unbuckled himself and grabbed a good hold of John's shoulder. "My scarf!" He spontaneously ripped off the pink streamer from his neck and casted it over Mycroft's face. "Thank-you for your help big brother"

"Wait wait wait" John looked up pleadingly at Sherlock. "Don't you think it would be best to go home and have some tea, get a proper night's sleep?"

Sherlock sighed impatiently. "John, you are now officially my wife so you have to support my decisions. And my decision is to go to Piccadilly circuit. Are you with me or not"

John didn't know how to respond but Mycroft did. Sherlock's older brother laughed heartily.

"He's got you there" He leaned back and tapped on the window to the driver's seat. John felt the car take a sharp turn and gradually come to a stop. As soon as the car was still Sherlock burst out the door and into the morning London air.

"Oh hell" John grunted, following Sherlock's lead. John stepped out of the car and instantly felt the small droplets of typical London weather on his suit. He didn't have time to consider an umbrella because Sherlock was already sprinting off down the path. The only reason that John caught up with Sherlock was because he had a difficult time manoeuvring past a woman with a stroller and fell into some unsuspecting bushes.

"Sherlock!" John gasped. The poor ex-soldier doubled over panting in quick breaths. Sherlock thrashed about in the shrub, struggling to get back to his feet.

"John! John!" Sherlock flailed about, only becoming further tangled in the plants grabby branches. "Help me!" John rolled his eyes. It amazed him how Sherlock could go from the most brilliant minded human being to an absolute loony in seconds. John would have left him tossing about for a bit longer until a kid and his mother passed by.

"Look mummy! That man is being eaten by a shrub" The kid stated, pointing his chubby finger.

"Don't stare. That man probably has issues" The mother scolded, grabbing her son and hurrying along.

John grabbed onto Sherlock's hand and heaved him forward with all of his might. The clumsy detective went shooting forward into John arms, his knees giving out beneath him. John felt Sherlock's crushing height push down on his body and he struggled to keep standing.

"Sherlock get off!" John begged, his voice muffled by Sherlock's constricting arms that were now wrapped firmly around his head. Sherlock's feet scrambled underneath him as John was pushed dangerously back. They both fell like the Burlin wall.

John let out a loud 'FOOO!' noise as his back hit the pavement. His aching head smacked against the pathway, sending a splitting pain through his body. Sherlock was ok though, he had John to brake his fall. John just lay there, his eyes staring up into the grey cloudy sky. With a long sigh John considered just lying there for a thousand years or at least until this nightmare ended. There was one problem though.

"Sherlock"

"Yes John"

"Get off of me" The blonde man's voice was eerily calm. Sherlock had his head perched up on John's chest, his face rising and falling with John's breathing. Sherlock shifted his weight a bit but gave no sign of removing himself. "GET THE BLOODY HELL OFF OF ME YOU TWIT!" John exploded tyring to wriggle himself free. Sherlock let out an irritated sigh. The detective planted his hands and knees on the ground on both sides of John and lifted himself up.

"You know, the usual protocol allows this kind of position to be normal for a husband and wife" Sherlock stated bluntly.

"NOT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GOD DAMM WALK WAY! And would you stop calling me your wife? If anything I would be the husband in this relationship" John propped himself up on his elbows and felt another pang as his headache kicked in. He cursed, waiting for his head to settle. Sherlock, still on his hands and knees over John, looked down at his flatmate with concern.

"You alright?" He asked gently. John's face was only inches away from Sherlock's. He looked up at the sociopath. It was out of character for Sherlock to be so tender but then again, it was also out of character for him to be straddling John so.

A wolf whistle from across the road snapped John out of his thoughts. He looked over his shoulder at a group of teens who were crowded around a nearby bus stop.

"P.D.A!" One called out.

"GET A ROOM!" Another shouted before they boarded the waiting double decker bus. John felt the temperature rise in his cheeks again and started to detach himself. He slid out from underneath the detective and rose to his feet, Sherlock following after him.

"Well..." John started, desperately attempting to steer the conversation away from their previous encounter. "Whatever it was spiked your drink has made your running useless so we need to find another way to get to the station"

"Right" Sherlock said. "Neither of us could possibly have enough money on our person to ride a cab, due to the expense of these rings or any other things we may have bought and lost along the way" He looked sorrowfully over at the bus stop. "We will have to ride public transport" He grimaced. John didn't understand why the idea of catching the bus to Piccadilly would be so bad until they were actually on it. The bus was absolutely packed when the boarded and it certainly wasn't fun having to hold onto Sherlock's waist in case the consulting detective lost power in his legs again. It looked like John was trying to make a grab at Sherlock's ass and people did notice. Someone's lingering glance prolonged itself and the consulting detective and his blogger were recognised. Sadly, the way they were recognised was a completely different story.

"Hey, I know you from somewhere" A fellow passenger said as the bus rocked over a speed bump. John looked up at a skinny young man with one head phone in. "You are that guy" He said. "And you are the other guy" He pointed out Sherlock.

John nodded "Well yes, I am…"

"That guy from that Youtube video!" The man exclaimed, his groggy face lighting up with a toothy grin. "Oh man! You two were hilarious!" He said with a chuckle that made Sherlock roll his eyes from something clearly off putting he deduced.

"Excuse me?" John blinked. "What video are we talking about?"

"The 'two guys do the _yes_ dance' video. I would know it was you man, that clip is a hit!"

"Yes dance?" John said, still not catching on.

"Oh you mean you haven't seen it?" The passenger shifted forward, tapping something into his ipod touch. "I got sent it last night by my buddy and oh man!" He yanked out the head phones and shifted it to face Sherlock and John. The man tapped the screen the video's ghastly audio filled the tight space.

_Oh great, another show stopping film._ John was completely correct.


	4. How to 'yes'

The 'yes' dance. It was a flamboyant display of pure and utter nonsense and most likely the perfect way to humiliate yourself in public. In the previous week, someone had linked the video to John's blog with the comment 'please please please do the dance and I will personally ship a whole year's supply of jam to baker street'. John had only watched the first minute of it and found it quite amusing. When he showed it to Sherlock, the detectives reaction was exactly, 'If you are planning on actually performing that then I suggest you wear your military uniform, it would add to the show'. John wasn't sure if he was using sarcasm or if he was serious but the subject had been dropped and never brought up again.

Until now. John could feel Sherlock peering over his shoulder as the video started to play. It was the small stage set up in the precincts office. Lestrade was the only one in the frame. The detective was holding onto a microphone and a dinky metal trophy shaped like a triangle. The clips quality was probably the best out of all the drunken mishap video's John had seen so far, whoever was holding the camera certainly wasn't drunk and defiantly wasn't using their mobile. It was like they were anticipating it.

"And now, the award for the 'most helpful detective of the year'" The name rang a bell. It was the only thing Sherlock was nominated for since Lestrade didn't agree with Anderson's idea of having an award for the 'biggest prick in the precinct'. "And the winner is…." He paused for the same kind of dramatic effect hosts of crap day time telly use. "Mr Sherlock Holmes" He announced. The room swelled with applause that didn't last long. Lestrade's eyes scanned up and down the stage, searching for the lucky prize winner.

"Sherlock?" There was no reply. The room fell silent. "Alrighty then, we will just move on to the next award shall we?"

"WAIT!" A deep voice shouted. The officers of Scotland Yard broke out into murmurs as Sherlock strolled his way on stage, there was a slight hyper active spring in his step and a jolly aura you would find in a man who ran a chocolate factory. He snatched the microphone off of Lestrade and swung to face the audience. "Thank-you Lestrade for this absolutely pointless award. I would like to say just a few words"

"Ahh… Sherlock perhaps you should go and sit down…" Lestrade started. Sherlock put his finger to Lestrade's lips, his hand smouldering the officer's face.

"SSSHHHHH! SSH SH SH SHHHH… don't worry, I got this" Sherlock shushed in a motherly way. He spun Lestrade around and gave him a push towards side stage, centring the spot light back to himself. "Now then…" Sherlock cleared his throat. "You guys. **YOU GUYS** are always saying the same thing to me. 'Oh Sherlock, he is a sociopath. He's a nutcase. He will probably end up murdering someone and yadda yadda yadda…" Sherlock's hand mimicked a puppet yapping in his ear. "Well, I personally think you are mostly a boring load of sods, except you Straddy!" Sherlock pointed over at Lestrade. "You are a pretty swell bugger" He also threw in a sloppy wink. The audience was in a mixture between a stunned silence and choking laughter. "And as a wise man once said, yes we can. Yes! Yes…. Yes" Sherlock rambled. A quizzical expression swelled over his face as he repeated the word, mumbling it into the microphone. His face lit up with a broad smile.

"JOHN! JOHN GET UP HERE!" He called out. "I know you were out there"

"I found him!" The camera flew towards Anderson, clinging onto John's shoulder bellow the stage. "He is all yours Sherlock" The brunette shoved John up the stairs. The intoxicated doctor moved at a sluggish pace. Compared to Sherlock, he looked like a windup toy on his last few spins.

"John, john I know how much you love jam" Sherlock spoke into the microphone, broadcasting his conversation throughout the room. "So I had this recorded just for you" Sherlock nodded off to someone along the wings and a techno beat started to play. The room flooded with cheers and whistles as Sherlock started to sway to the familiar tune. John blinked up at Sherlock, his eyes drooping.

"But Sherlock, I didn't bring my uniform…." He whined. Sherlock jittered up and down, his energy level bursting at the seams.

"Who cared Johnny? We have the perfect audience and you know the moves" Sherlock's drunk, hypo persuasion was just to encouraging. John nodded and began to sway along with Sherlock, his feet moving in time to the beat.

"OK! JOHN AND I ARE GOING TO TEACH Y'ALL SOMETHING TONIGHT. SOME OF Y'ALL KNOW SOME OF Y'ALL DON'T" The precinct burst into wild cheers and Sherlock took centre stage, knowing exactly where this was going. "You wanna know what it is called? It's called yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" Sherlock and John stepped in time with the beat, flicking their arms over their heads in a whipping motion. There was a feminine laughter from behind the camera. "Now some of y'all can't remember shit, especially you Anderson, if you ain't got words" Sherlock's voice ended with a girly wisp, strangely resembling his arch nemesis. "So John and I are going to give you some words to remember this by. It's called work" John and Sherlock threw there left hands in the air in a sassy click. "Beat" They slung it back over their hearts. "Fierce" clicking their hands off to the side. "Sound" rolled out their arms and pointing down.

John and Sherlock sung in untidy unison, "WORK, BEAT, FEIRCE, SOUND!" The song picked up and they repeated this at a faster rate. Sherlock was really getting into it; he twisted his hips to the music in a feisty swivel, giving John a hard time to keep up. And then came the part that sent the whole room in hysteria.

"LET'S DO THE FORK IN THE GARBAGE DISPOSAL!" Sherlock shouted. John joined in for the second round, shouting the obscene lyrics to the heavens. The two men threw both their hands up in the air over their heads. They skipped around in circles singing, "DING DING DING DA DING DING DING!" Sherlock didn't watch where he was going and collided with John, sending himself crashing down.

"WAIT JOHN WAIT! I lost my contact!" He called out, dragging in John's attention. Sherlock plucked an imaginary contact lense from the stage and hopped back onto his feet. "Found it" They continued the dance, kicking their legs up in the air. The passenger giggled to himself as John and Sherlock watched in horror. The surrounding travellers craned their necks, curious to what all the commotion was about.

"Well I hoped you guys like that tutorial on how to YES" Sherlock said, finally coming to a stop. John on the other hand, was still strutting around in time with the music, twirling his wrists and dropping it like it's hot. "Oh look at John! He caught the yes, look at him go!" Sherlock stammered back, taking in the sight of John's terrible dancing. "Alright slow down bitch that's enough, slow down girl. You are starting to yes to hard!" Sherlock turned in panic to the audience. "He has done this before! He will yes to death! Someone call Mrs Hudson, He's on fire!" John kept grooving along, blocking himself out from the world. "John stop! You are going to hurt yourself!" That was when John fell to the floor. "OMG MY FRIEND JUST DIED FROM YESSING TO HARD!" Sherlock shouted out in agony. Back on the side of the stage, Lestrade face palmed himself. The woman behind the camera burst into hysteric laughter, slightly rocking the image.

"JACK ASS!" Someone called from the audience. While Sherlock was kneeling over a 'fainted' John, Lestrade marched back on stage and ripped the microphone from Sherlock.

"Thank-you Mr Holmes for that…. Interesting dance" He muttered into the microphone, sending death glared Sherlock's way.

"John! DON'T DIE JOHN!" Sherlock's wails continued. John propped himself up.

"Sherlock, I'm not dead"

"CURSE YOU CRUEL WORLD! NOW MY POOR JOHN IS DEAD!" Sherlock bantered on.

"Would someone please get this lunatic off my stage?" Lestrade shouted into the mic. The video ended.

The stares from the other passengers were suffocating. They all watched the couple with an unblinking concentration, making judgements about them. Their saviour was when the bus pulled up outside Piccadilly and the doors wheezed open. If Sherlock wasn't weighing him down, John would have full on bolted out of that door and as far away from that youtube video as possible.

"Your bloody scarf better be where you think it is Sherlock" John growled through gritted teeth.

"Offcourse it is where I think it is John. I may be hung-over and my muscles aren't working, but I know when I am right" Sherlock said confidently. Now it was John's turn to roll his eyes. They hobbled together threw the busy time square. The midday rush hour set in as John half dragged Sherlock towards the subway entrance.

"Oh bollox" Sherlock rested his weight on John as they came to a stop at the entrance. It seemed that everyone in London had chosen today to ride the subway. Sherlock, being almost part praying mantis was able to crane his neck up over the swamping crowds. "What do you see?" John asked.

"Come on. We are going in" And with that, Sherlock plunged them both head first into the sea of people. John felt like a puck on an air hockey table. Sherlock would stumble into one person, only to be shoved into the next and John was just the poor sucker who didn't let go. As they approached the break in the crowd, John felt the sting of camera flashes and a loud roar of people. The two finally broke through to the front of the crowd and certainly did not expect what they saw next.


	5. Anderson is a wanker

_**Good day to you fellow Sherlockians. I must say, your comments are much appreciated! Sadly now that school has gone in again, this young author must struggle between homework and fanfiction. Lucky for you I have chosen fanfiction but sadly it might take me about 2 days to publish a new chapter. Oh well, give or take I will still be writing more. Oh, and to the person who asked to marry me in the comments, I am already mentally married to Benerdict Cumberbatch but I am flattered by your offer tenfold. **_

"This is Sandra Berkin's reporting from Piccadilly station, where in the early hours of the morning, the bashing of a member of Scotland Yard took place" The bottle blonde reporter stood, dolled up like a barbie in front of a massive camera with the local news station logo printed on the side. Around the benches, vending machines, trash cans and loose pieces of rubbish were bright yellow witches hats, marking out a clear 'do not cross'.

_It's fine. They are probably talking about someone else. This has nothing to do with…. _Sherlock? John found that his hobbling husband wasn't slouching at his hip any more. In fact, Sherlock Holmes had continued on, strolling onto the crime scene like it was just an everyday child's play ground.

"Sherlock!" John hissed, beckoning to him. Sherlock spun around and raised his eye brows. "Get back here!"

"Why?" Sherlock called back in the same hushed tone.

"You can't just walk onto a crime scene without being invited" John rumbled, struggling to keep his voice low.

"Nonsense, I do it all the time" Sherlock scoffed and continued on. "Besides, I found my scarf"

John watched timidly from the side lines as Sherlock strode through the crime scene. His limp made him look like a doctor from a soap opera and the vomit smell didn't help much either. John was just glad that there were no cops on sight, it would be difficult to get Sherlock home if he had been tackled and tasered or worse, not getting his blue scarf back. The consulting detective tucked his hands into his pockets and eventually wobbled his way along. He only paused when he came into the TV camera's line of vision. He stopped behind the reporter and flashed the camera with a quick wave. The reporter continued broadcasting, not noticing for a second that there was a man with dark curls right behind her robbing her of her spotlight. Sherlock unrelentingly moved on with his mission.

He came to a stop at the yellow line the separated the station from the track. John craned his neck but it was no use, he still couldn't see what Sherlock was focusing on.

_Dammit, if only I weren't shaped like Winnieh the Pooh_! John cursed in his aching mind. John wasn't able to see what it was but he did manage to watch as Sherlock leapt off the platform.

"Sherlock!" John shouted. He disregarded the fact that there were many spectators and a camera crew and sprinted forward. He tore through the crime scene, overturning all the obstacles in his track to get to his friend. _Oh god please be ok!_ John was in such a hurry that when the reporter stood in his path, he simply shoved her out of the way. She squealed as the sudden blow pushed her off her high heels.

"Sherlock?" John called out, his voice reverberating off the side of the station walls. "SHERLOCK!" He called again when there was no reply. He was prepared to dive into the blackness himself when a voice called out from bellow his feet.

"John?" It was Sherlock. Who else would it be? John got down on his knees and peered over the edge. Sherlock's pale features stared up at John, soot and filth decorating his face.

"Do I even have to ask?"

"I found my scarf" Sherlock stated. "Um… John, would you please give me your hand? I have the sensation that something is crawling on my leg." John let out a sigh and stuck out his palm. Sherlock reached up and got a firm grasp of his partner's wrist. John let out a grunt as he hoisted Sherlock up off his feet. There was a minute of grunting and groaning as John struggled to pull Sherlock over the line again.

"God… for a man that barely eats anything, you weigh a tonne!" John said between grunts.

"What a horrible thing for a husband to say to his wife" Sherlock snapped as his torso tilted over the yellow line.

"Oh so you're the wife now?" John spluttered, letting go of Sherlock's wrist. Sherlock dragged himself back onto his feet. He had to admit, Sherlock would make a wonderful damsel in distress if he wasn't so gangly.

"Well since you made such a scene about it earlier" He brushed himself off pointlessly. His suit was beyond cleanable now that it had his own puke, had been rained on and been dragged along god knows what that soiled the station floor. Sherlock peeled off is coat and stuffed it in his hand, along with that bloody scarf that he would risk life and limb for. Underneath was a crisp white shirt, the only part that was smudged was around the collar that had been exposed. John couldn't help but notice how tight it was, practically clinging itself to his chest.

"Umm… don't tell me you are wearing my shirt as well" John stammered when Sherlock noticed his stare.

"No. I just don't have any place in my mind for such pedestrian things such as knowing how long to put something in the dryer for" Sherlock replied, tugging at the sleeves.

"You mentioned earlier that you think you would be the wife? Scratch that. I would make a better Mrs Holmes than you would make a Mrs Watson" John said with that adorable grin of his.

"I'm glad you said that"

"Why?"

"Because" Sherlock held his scarf open to John like a banner. The scarf, beneath the grot of the subway had the words '_ANDERSON IS A WANKER'_ scribbled along it with black ink. "I also have very little knowledge on stain removal, as much as I agree with the statement" John giggled to himself and snatched it out of Sherlock's grip.

"No problem 'darling'"

Sherlock grinned, flashing each every one of the those brilliantly white teeth of his as they made their way back towards the stair case.

"Excuse me" Came a small voice and a tap on Sherlock's shoulder. John was surprised to find Barbie back on her feet so quickly.

"Can we help you?" John asked. She wasn't paying him the slightest attention though, her eyes were fixed on the taller, grottier man next to him.

"My name is…" She started in a honey sweet voice.

"Sandra Berkin's I know" Sherlock spoke over her. Her face lit up with a smile, or whatever you called that plasticy facial expression.

"I couldn't help but notice you jump off the tracks a minute ago"

_How sharp of her! Great that she took her pin brain off that camera for a second!_

"Well how kind of you for helping" He said, his voice completely unreadable. The woman laughed at a joke that wasn't said and fidgeted with her purple finger nails. John felt something tug at the back of his mind, a feeling that he had never truly felt about someone before. The feeling of jealousy.

"You know, I find the stoic type quite… sexy" She bit her bottom lip and pulled her shoulders back to meet Sherlock's eyes. "Maybe when I am finished up here you and I could go get a drink"

_THAT BITCH! Can't she see that Sherlock isn't into the shy blonde type! Wait…. Ok so the shy blonde type isn't that bad… but she is the slutty shy blonde type!_ Sherlock felt John's arms around his waist squeeze him unusually tighter. The small blonde man tensed and waited for Sherlock's reply.

"Isn't it a little early for alcohol?" Sherlock said.

_Early? That is what he cares about? Not that she is only looking at him because he is handsome! She is completely superficial!_ John blinked. _Did I just think Sherlock was handsome?_ He pushed the thought aside to focus on more important matters.

"We could always get a coffee" She said, her voice dipping. Sherlock had had enough by then.

"Thank-you Miss but I will have to decline your offer" He said and made a move forward.

"Oh come on, give me a reason why not to just get a quick drink" The reporter was persistent but letting it sound unintentional and flirty.

"Let's start with the fact that your efforts to seduce me by making your chest more prominent is not only self-degrading but it also says that you have had a lot of experience in charming men, including using your body to get things that you want. Judging by your limited vocabulary you slept with a producer at the local station to get you a spot as a news reporter because trained reporter with experience would have such greater synonyms. And further more I am already bound by the sacred law of marriage. If you want proof you would have noticed my novelty item ring that is placed on my ring finger, the very same ring that matches my partner here" Sherlock nodded towards John. The woman stared back at Sherlock with a predicable blank expression as she took this information in. "I wish you luck for your futures endeavours. Are you ready to go John?"

"Oh god yes" John beamed, his eyes sparkling up at Sherlock with brightness that could only match his broad smile.

"Then let us leave" John and Sherlock started to move together, leaving the astonished plastic blonde reporter to gather her thoughts. John didn't care who was looking. He put his spare arm around Sherlock's waist possessively and pulled him to his side as they made their way through the departing crowd. _Out of everything that has happened today, I think this is probably the one I will remember_. John thought to himself gleefully. He felt like a schoolgirl would holding onto her crushes hand, blushing like a rose. He felt a warm tingle in the pit of his stomach that had been tossing and turning all morning. The small blonde doctor was starting to feel a bit better.

"Well well well" Another woman's voice, but this one not quite so kind. "I knew I would find you two down here but not as close I would have expected"

Sherlock broke out of John's snuggly embrace and looked up.

Sergeant Sally Donovan stood proud and tall at the top of the stairway, a triumphant grin on her face.

"You have gone too far this time Holmes. I always knew you would do something to ruin that sparkling little reputation you built up for yourself but who knew this would be the way to do it"

"Look Sally" John broke in "If you are talking about that youtube video it was just a stupid prank ok?"

She laughed. "You think that is what this is about? No this is much bigger than that" She unhooked a pair of handcuffs from her jacket. Their expressions were just the reaction she was looking for. "Yeah, you know what these are, don't you?" She trotted down the steps. "Mr Sherlock Holmes. You are under arrest for the assault of a police officer. Anything you say can or will be used against you in the court of law" She clicked them over his wrists and shut them tight. "You have the right to a lawyer, if you cannot afford one you will be issued one by the city of London"

"Sherlock" John whimpered as he watched Sally drag him away up the stairs.

"Not to worry John, just another minor setback" Sherlock said, putting on a brave face.

That good feeling was gone, washed down the drain with all his other emotions. John felt numb.


	6. Take it off

All he wanted to do was go home. He wanted to collapse onto his bed and curl up into a little ball and hibernate for the next 10 years. Sadly, he couldn't just do that. He wanted Sherlock as well. So that is why John was sitting in a lonely cab in midday traffic, on his way to the precinct to collect his flatmate. The cab weaved its way around the street, the drumming of the raindrops on the roof sounding more like boulders smashing around in John's head. His temple throbbed, squeezing down painfully on his mind. The cab pulled out onto the curb and after shoving whatever currency he had left in Sherlock's trousers into the cabby's palm he tore up the stairs.

John burst into the precinct and marched his way straight towards where he knew the holding cells were. He ignored the title wave of voices and complaints that collapsed around him, they were all just spiteful pricks who get off on humiliating Sherlock out of their own malice. John stormed down the corridor to the only cell that was currently being occupied. He stopped outside of the door, his hand hesitating on the door knob. He turned to face the one way window that gave the viewer an outstanding view of the holding cell. John recapped a few steps and peeked through.

Sherlock was perched up onto the interview table. His hands were pressed together and tucked under his chin, if anyone knew better they would say that he was praying but John knew that Sherlock didn't have the time for such a pedestrian thing. He was thinking, winding his web. Sherlock had his eyes shut, not moving a single muscle. If Sherlock's clothes weren't so tightly clinging to his skin you wouldn't be able to tell if he was even breathing. With Sherlock's shins exposed and the first few buttons of his shirt popped open, he resembled a teenager who just had a sudden growth spurt and it was starting to show that Sherlock was struggling to remain ignorant to the fact.

"You done there?" Sally sneered.

John whirled around, his eyes fixing on the tanned officer. "Let me talk to him" John demanded.

"I'm afraid I cannot allow that. Sherlock knows exactly what he did wrong and he is going to learn from his mistakes"

"He could not have possibly known what he was doing. He was waisted"

"Think about what you are saying Dr Watson" Sally folded her arms, her eyes locking with John's. "When has Sherlock ever not known perfectly well what was happening?" The question hung suspended in the air around them.

_Did Sherlock really know what he was doing last night? Why would he intentionally want to assault this mystery officer, write offensive scrawl on his favourite scarf…. Or marry me?_ The question fought its way into his mind but he didn't have the energy to ponder it. Not yet. Just like when he performing his services in Afghanistan, John singled his mind on the main objective, getting Sherlock out of jail.

"John Watson" The beat doctor looked up as Lestrade stalked down the hall towards the pair. "Here to see Sherlock?"

"Please"

"Alright then" Lestrade dipped his hand into his pocket.

"Hold on! You can't just let him walk in there!" Sally burst out, grabbing onto Lestrades wrist.

"Actaully Ms Donovan. I can. And I think I recall specifically bringing Sherlock in. I said nothing about making an arrest and to top it off you didn't have a warrant" Sally showed no signs of budging. "We will be standing right out here. We can see and hear everything that is going on" Lestrade pressed.

"Fine" Sally grumbled, reluctantly letting go. "but make it quick" The way Lestrade was being so tolerant of Sally stood out to the small doctor.

_Whoever Sherlock 'attacked' must have had some kind of relationship with Sally. Oh lord, now I'm starting to think like him!_ Lestrade slipped the keys into the lock and with a thick chunk the door rattled open. Lestrade caught John's shoulder and muttered into his ear.

"I will call you two in. I need to have a word with Ms Donovan. 10 minutes tops, got it?" Lestrade plucked the dark blue scarf from John's hand for safe keeping.

John nodded and took a deep breath before striding into the cell. The door slammed shut behind him before he could even blink.

"This is a bad idea. Who knows what crap that psycho will spill into that innocent man's head?" Sally said, her eyes not leaving John's back for a second.

"Come on Donovan, you are over reacting"

"Over reacting?" Sally exploded with a sarcastic laugh. "You saw how unpredictable he was last night"

"Yes… well there is further investigation needed in that matter as it is" Lestrade replied darkly. Sally said nothing and continued to observe through the glass. John lingered by the door, eyeing Sherlock cautiously.

"Sherlock…"

"If you are going to ask me if I remember who I 'bashed' last night then your answer is no, I don't remember" John was startled at first, not expecting Sherlock to answer him.

"Hmmf, well you are in a great load of trouble now" John scolded like a preschool teacher to a naughty pupil.

"It would benefit us all if you didn't feel the need to state the obvious right now John" Sherlock then shifted his position, his head snapping over to John. "Take your clothes off"

"What did that lunatic just say?" Sally hooted, leaning closer to the glass to get a closer look.

"Excuse me, what?" John's eye brow rose, doing a double take. Behind the glass, Sally laughed incredulously to herself like a fangirl watching her favourite TV character tell a bad joke.

"You heard me" Sherlock stated, his face a sculpture of complete seriousness. "Take your clothes off"

Lestrade cupped a hand over his mouth, turning his face away.

"Sherlock…" John choked. "Is this another side effect because I mean… you never… you said you didn't…" John felt flustered, avoiding all eye contact in a way that a schoolboy would during a sex ed class.

"Oh don't flatter yourself" Sherlock swung his long gangly legs over the side of the table, flinching at the draft that stung his bare shins. "I simply cannot think straight like this. All the pressing and cupping is distracting me" John's blush deepened. "Give me your clothes"

John bit down on the inside of his cheek. Another new emotion for the day, feeling absolutely offended and he didn't even know why. Sally cackled again, finding the situation unquestionably entertaining. Lestrade leaned back against the wall and tilted his head up to the ceiling. "Has everyone gone mad today?" He asked the dear Lord.

"No!" John puffed. "I'm not going to just strip off because you need better clothes"

"Are you denying me John?" Sherlock asked.

"YES I AM SHERLOCK!" John stormed down to the other side of the cell, giving himself some distance between the consulting detective and his body.

"Not very 'wifely' of you"

"Oh don't give me that crap Sherlock. You are just going to have to deal with it"

"John you are acting ridiculous. The only other way I will be able to think clearly is to be in my underwear. Considering the circumstance, it is certain that someone will be watching us through that window as we speak and being almost naked wouldn't help the situation in my odds. Now are you going to give me your clothes or not?" The way Sherlock put it sounded almost logical. John spared a glance at the window but only found his burning reflection staring back.

"What am I going to wear then?" John wasn't giving in.

"The clothes I am wearing" Sherlock snapped back. "These are your pants and because of your small size you would be able to wear this shirt without it being too uncomfortable" John gulped and backed up against the wall. Sherlock let out a sigh. "You really picked out the wrong day to have to have every little detail explained to you in black and white" His long pale fingers slid up to the collar of his shirt, beginning to pop open the buttons one by one. _Me. Sherlock. Getting undressed. In the same room!_

"Stop!" John gasped. "I'm not stripped down in front of you **while you are stripping down in front of me**! Besides, anyone can see us through that window"

"You are worried about that now. We obviously must have come across this type of situation last night John. How else would I be wearing your trousers?" Sherlock was right and John hated that.

"I don't care! I'm not taking my clothes off and that's that!" John put on a stern face, not giving in.

"Perhaps we should go collect them…." Lestrade said, hardly being able to take any more of this.

"Wait wait! I want to see where this goes" Sally said, waving Lestrade off.

The D.I furrowed is brow. They were all adults, adults who acted like children and what was worse was that these people were also the ones who keep murders off the streets. It was a frightening revolution.

Sherlock slid himself off the table and approached John.

"Get away from me Sherlock" John grumbled, struggling to keep his voice sturdy.

"Give me your clothes" Sherlock persisted, prowling closer and closer.

"No" John found himself moving backwards until he was jammed into the corner where the two walls met.

"Oh for god's sake John" Sherlock slid his hands over John's belt buckle, his spidery fingers grasping at the button and yanking at his fly. John let out a squeak and batted Sherlock away. "You are just making things more difficult for yourself" John shoved Sherlock roughly off him and slithered out of the trap, manoeuvring himself around the desk.

"Leave me alone god dammit!" John made a move to rezip his pants but Sherlock was already upon him. John flailed about in Sherlock's arms as the dark haired man got an iron grip on the smaller man's shirt. John's vision was blinded as he found his shirt over his head. John instantly dropped to the floor, letting the shirt come away over his head. John rolled up at the other side of the cell. His skin crawled as the icy sting of the cell bit at his bare chest. By the time he had recovering the initial shock that Sherlock had forced himself out of his own shirt, Sherlock was sliding his own off his shoulders and replacing it with Johns. _When did he get so quick?_

"Are we going to have another repeat of last time or are you going to give me your trousers with dignity" Sherlock asked as he did up the last button to John's soft blue dress shirt. It didn't fit him well but anything was better than that shrunken monstrosity.

"You bastard" John hissed. Without warning, Sherlock bolted towards John. The ex-soldier was quicker though. He dodged out of the way, rounding the table. Sherlock was at his heals, chasing John round and round the table, making desperate grabs at his pants.

"Stop being so childish!" Sherlock shouted through gritted teeth.

"You stop being childish!" John spat back furiously. Back outside the cell, Sally was practically pissing herself with laughter, her hands clutching her sides as she let out a roar of laughter. Lestrade shook his head grimly and reached for the intercom attached to the wall. He pressed his finger down and waited a few seconds before the voice of the control room operator came buzzing through.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to need some back up down here in the holding bay" Lestrade sighed.

"Is it urgent?"

Lestrade looked back into the cell. John was currently gripped for dear life onto the table leg as Sherlock yanked furiously at the trouser hems.  
>"Yes. It's urgent"<p> 


	7. Caught

By the time back up had finally arrived, John was using a chair to fend off Sherlock's prying hands. Six police men stormed into the cell. There were only a few kicks and punches thrown to the sudden confusion but soon enough, John and Sherlock were being lead back down the hallway, with three guards at each side just in case Sherlock got grabby again.

"Why do you have to be so difficult?" John muttered under his breath.

"Why do you have to be such a prude all of a sudden?" Sherlock replied, keeping his glare straight ahead.

"I'm not prude I just don't fancy the idea of you ripping my clothes off in front of Scotland Yard!"

"You didn't mind when we were at the pool" Sherlock said slyly, his voice rising a little so the surrounding guards could hear. One of them raised an eye brow.

"That is a completely different circumstance. I had a bomb stuck to my chest!" John stammered. Sherlock was just teasing the poor man now.

"But you still openly accepted my hands on your body anyway" He retorted, a gloat coating his voice.

"I hate you" John growled.

"Oh how hurtful!" Sherlock moaned sarcastically. The officers came to a sudden stop. Lestrade, who was leading the way, turned on his heels back at the bickering couple.

"Would you two please act your age for 10 seconds and stop this nonsense!" His voice was low, not wanting to draw any further attention to the group. "I never thought I would be saying this but, John, give Sherlock back his pants and Sherlock, stop trying to forcibly remove John's clothing!" Lestrade leaned over and grabbed hold of a nearby door knob. He was confident that Sherlock already knew where the door leads to but he explained anyway. "This room is one of our private interview rooms. There are no windows and no speakers, it is totally isolated" He held the door open for them. "I will give you both 5 minutes and when I come back I expect your clothing situation to be under control and that you will be ready to sit down and talk like mature adults. Understood?"

"Hold on, can't I get a separate room?" John begged.

"Nonsense. You are both a married couple. I am sure you will be fine" Lestrade nodded to the guards, who parted and left the three men alone in the hallway. "In you go" Sherlock complied, moving around Lestrade and into the room. Lestrade held the door open patiently. John gave him a worried look.

"You can't be serious"

"Oh but I am" Lestrade put his hand on John's back and gave him a little shove. "Don't worry, I can always get the big strong men back to save you if need"

"Thanks a lot" John groused before stepping inside. The door shut gently behind him, causing John to stiffen when he heard the click of the lock.

"Be back in five minutes" John heard Lestrade call out, followed by the echoing sound of footsteps.

"Are you happy now? Everyone thinks that you are a madman out to molest me"

"After that ostentatious display last night, the idea of me being 'mad' is not so farfetched although I am hardly a molester. If I wanted to do that then I would have already done it" Sherlock was already moving his hands towards the trouser hems, weaving the buttons undone. "Now shut up and strip. I need to get back into more comfortable clothing so I can use my brain for thoughts other than forcing you out of your clothes"

John knew that Sherlock didn't mean it in the way it sounded. He was always ignorant to those types of things. Either way, John still felt the warm glow of that darn recurring blush.

"Not until you turn around" John persisted. Whatever strand of dignity John had left was gone, the last thing he needed was for Sherlock to be eyeballing him the whole time he undressed himself. The consulting detective let out a frustrated sigh.

"Fine" He shifted himself so he was facing the wall. "Satisfied now?" Before John could reply, Sherlock had bent over and yanked the trousers down past his knees.

"Oh god Sherlock!" John's hand flew up to cover his face.

"What now?" Sherlock called over his shoulder.

"You could have at least have given me a little warning!"

Sherlock ignored John's bashful rambling and muttered the word _prude_ under his breath. He snaked his gangly legs out of the trousers and plucked them up from the floor. In one flued movement, he had scooped them up and was marching over to John. Sherlock may be ignorant to the way people interoperate things, but he certainly wasn't ignorant to John's sudden change in character. Now that he was out of those suffocatingly tight clothes, his mind was already unwinding John's newfound characteristics. Sherlock decided it would be best to ignore it for now and focus on the real problem at hand.

He cleared his throat loudly, causing John to jump. "So, are you going to stand there with your hands over your face like some bashful sitcom character" That caught John's attention. "Or are you going to give me back my pants?"

John removed his palm from over his eyes. Sherlock was standing right before him, those blue grey eyes piercing through the dull light that hung from above. He gulped down whatever comeback he had lined up and snatched his pants from Sherlock.

"If you had only asked me kindly before…" John muttered, rushing to undo the fly and button holding Sherlock's pants around his waist. "And let me handle it then we would have had more time…" He dropped them from around his legs and kicked them off. "…to get our heads around the situation"

"Again with the stating of the obvious John" Sherlock pinched his sleek black trousers from the floor. John positioned his own pants out in front of him when something caught his eye that was out of place.

"Sherlock…"

"What? You forgot another noticeable fact to point out? Like how my hair is curly or that the sky is blue?"

John bit down on his lip. "Sherlock hold still for a second" John inched closer towards his flatmate, moving slowly up behind him. He took to a crouching stance on the floor behind Sherlock, squinting his eyes through the gloom at something on the back of his thigh.

"John… what is it about my leg you find so fascinating"

"You have a…." John's voice trailed off as he tried to pick out exactly what it was. The overhanging light sent shadows down Sherlock's body, masking the foreign object.

"What is it John?" Sherlock demanded impatiently. John looked up at his betrothed, meeting eyes with him from over his pale shoulder.

"Did you always have a tattoo on the back of your leg?"

"Tatoo?" Sherlock repeated to himself, getting lost in thought. His eyes widened and his head snapped forward, braking away from John's gaze. "What is it a tattoo of?"

"Well… I can't really tell" John reached out and got a firm grip on Sherlock's mid-thigh. Sherlock squirmed under the sudden contact. "Stop moving so I can get a closer look"

"Can you see it?" Sherlock asked again.

"No. It's too shadowy, I can't get a good look at it" John answered, getting up off the floor as he remembered how he lacked in trousers as well. Sherlock reached his arm over his head, passing the small blonde his phone unexpectantly.

"What do you expect me to do with this?" John asked, taking it out of Sherlock's palm.

"Take a photo of it. Use the flash"

_Another completely normal, heterosexual idea, _John thought as he turned the phone over in his fingers. There was no real point in arguing because if he didn't just do it then Sherlock would most likely take matters into his own hands and John really didn't think he could stomach Sherlock posing himself for a good snap shot of his own ass. John took up his squatting position on the floor again.

Sherlock pressed his palms up against the wall to steady himself.

"Make sure you turn the flash on"

"Shut up and hold still" John grabbed hold of Sherlock's knee, trying to get his leg to stop shivering in the cold.

"Stop touching me" Sherlock grunted, attempting to shake John off.

"Oh so it's ok for you to sexually harass me in front of Sally and Lestrade but I'm not allowed to hold the back of your knee?" John scoffed, his fingers working on the phone and selecting the camera icon.

"Cupping me is not nessacairy" Sherlock warned.

"You are such a hypocrite!" John aimed the camera up to the back of Sherlock's leg, zooming in on the article of inquirery.

"Why are you still fixating on that?" Sherlock demanded, getting sick and tired of the subject.

"Because you violated me without my permission Sherlock" John readied his finger over the capture button. "Can we get this over with already? Lestrade will be back any minute"

"Fine then" Sherlock turned back around, packing up the argument in a special box in his mind palace for another time.

"Are you ready?" John asked.

"Ready for it John" Sherlock replied. John pressed down on the capture button.

The door swung open, making a loud thud as it rallied off the side of the wall.

"Ok you lunatics, Lestrade sent me to…" Sally blinked as a camera flash went off, temporarily blinding her. When the light returned to the room, her jaw dropped, absolutely speechless. John rolled back onto the ground, inspecting the photo. Sherlock followed after him, crouching next to his partner and letting his face hover over his neck.

"My god Sherlock!" John gasped, going wide eyed.

"Oh… John" Sherlock whimpered back. Sally took a step back, shock taking over. John looked up and connected eyes with the horrified inspector. He looked to himself, to Sherlock and back to her. The trouserless man sat on the floor, realising the impending doom that had just been bestowed upon them.

"Sally… it is not what is looks like…" Was all John could manage out.

"No no! I'll just let you two finish up in here then" Sally stammered it a squeaking voice. She grabbed back hold of the door knob and slammed the door shut as she rushed out of the room, feeling the surge of a nose bleed coming on.

John gulped. He was not sure what was worse. The fact Sherlock had a tattoo on the back of his leg shaped like heart with John's name written inside, or the fact that Sally now had just seen something that will change the way she thinks of the manly, sweater wearing ex-soldier forever.


	8. Narnia

His trousers. Check. His phone. Check. His sweater. Check. His dignity, yeah John had a feeling he would be missing that for a while. The so called 'completely private room' was suffocating him. He couldn't bear to stand still so he took off, flinging the door open and marching off down the corridor.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock called, craning his neck around the corner and staring down at his flustered little doctor.

"I don't know! Narnia!" John shouted, not looking back. He felt Sherlock's gaze on him as he pushed through the door to the men's bathroom.

"You are not going to find it in there" Sherlock stated. John replied in a noise that was not human, slamming the door behind him in a loud crash. The world shifted around him as he stormed over to the sinks, ducking his head and glaring down the drain. Who-ever else was in the bathroom suddenly felt impending awkwardness and made a move for the door. John listened as the footsteps approached the entry he had so roughly bashed through. There was slight hesitation but the officer thought it best to let John be. Through the pounding of blood in his ears, John heard the man slip outside. He was joined by his mate because they started to chatter in hushed tones.

"What was that all about?" One of them asked the other.

"I don't know. Lovers tiff"

John spun back to the doorway "WE ARE NOT LOVERS!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. The officers on the other side of the door flinched at the sudden explosion they never would have thought would come from the small jam loving blogger. They fled from their perches like startled pigeons, not daring to hang around for the aftershock.

His arms shook as he reached back, grasping onto the porcelain sink. John turned, fingers gripping onto the sides of the basin for dear life.

'_Can you keep a secret? We have photographic evidence. Are you with me or not? It would add to the show… Just a minor setback. Not very wifely of you! Fine then' _Sherlock's voice rang in his head, repeating itself like a broken record player. "Shut up. Just shut up!" John begged between gasps as nausea ripped through his chest. He looked up into the mirror.

Just. Scrawled in black ink smudged along a forehead. A forehead growing pale. John watched as his sandy hair turned dark, curling up into small springs on his scalp. All the grooves and patterns printed onto his skin, the withered indents awarded to him from lack of sleep, or Afghanistan, or simply just another week at Baker Street began to fade. Warm blue eyes turned icy as they stared back and soft spongy lips grew tight and ghostly. John stared back at a face that wasn't his own.

"Sher-" That was when whatever mighty being on earth slammed itself at John's stomach. He curled over as he did exactly what Sherlock had done, except not on Mycroft's shoe. John throat burned and eyes watered, feeling the acid and poison rise up out of his system and splutter into the drain. John closed his eyes and let his body tense and squeeze down on his insides. After a few more dry heaves, John felt confident that he had seen the last of his stomach content. With a shaking hand, he reached over and turned the tap handle, setting the icy cold water jet streaming into the basin. He waited for the powerful stench to swirl down the drain before opening his eyes again.

The world had fallen back into its usual pace. John blinked salty tears out of his eyes, letting them plummet off the ridge of his nose and into the rushing water below.

The blonde let out a long sigh. He cupped both hands underneath the tap and brought the cool water to his face. The sensation of the beads of water smashing against his cheeks felt soothing, washing away the fiery tension that burned on his skin previously. He straightened up but didn't let his hands fall from his face.

_Please don't be there_. He prayed and let his palms fall. A familiar sandy haired ex-soldier peeked out cautiously back at him, much to John's relief. There was a soft rap on the door.

"Bugger off" John called listlessly.

"John, I'm coming in" John watched past his reflection as Lestrade moved through the entry, stepping just inside his peripheral line of vision. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah… yeah I'm fine" John muttered, keeping his eyes down the drain. Greg Lestrade wasn't a Holmes, but he certainly wasn't an idiot.

"Really? Cus' when I asked Sally to fetch you she came back saying something about 'scrubbing her eyeballs clean'" That awarded himself a tiny slither of a grin from John. Lestrade felt like a kindergarten teacher at the best of times, always making sure his pupils kept on the right track and didn't kill each other in the process. Every once in a while one of his gentler students would find themselves lost and even though he wasn't the best at it, he knew it was his job to get them back.

"You know, that sociopath out there may seem like he has all the answers but he doesn't" John glimpsed over at Lestrade. "I have not seen anyone get through to him, or change his mind, or even make him think twice about his actions. Except you. Now, he sure as hell can't help us with his blogger hurling up into the bathroom sink" John kept his expression blank, he simply couldn't argue. "Now are you going to just stand there or are you coming to rescue your lunatic?"

John let out a small grin and rubbed his temple. "He is completely hopeless without me, isn't he?"

"As hopeless as he would be if he was performing a dance recital for her Majesty herself" Lestrade grinned back, following John out the door. The two of them walked side by side down the hall. They didn't need to say anything, it was a comfortable silence. Sherlock's voice shattered it.

"Did you find Aslan?" He called sarcastically from the private room.

John glanced to his side, his eyes just sweeping over Lestrade's figure for only a second.

"No. He found me"

"He's missing?" John asked.

"Clearly John, that is what he just said" Sherlock commented, bored by the conversation.

"I know that" John hissed, not bothering to look back at the dark haired figure folded up on the officer chair. "I don't understand what you mean by missing"

"We have not been able to get in contact with him and his wife doesn't know his ware bouts either" Sally explained. She sat across the broad table from Sherlock and John, occasionally giving those long calculative looks that weren't fooling anyone to be just little glances.

"You and Sherlock were the last seen with him. Do you have any clue to where he could be?"

"Well… last night for me is a total blur" John said, twiddling his thumbs. "I would suspect it would be the same for Sherlock" Sally frowned.

"Don't give me that. You must have some idea of where he went; he was with you for god's sake"

"I don't know what to tell you. The last real memory I have was…." He wet his lips and forced out the rest of his sentence "Sherlock's speech". Sally's face lit up in a nasty smirk.

"Oh yes, who could forget that!" John felt a flare burn across his cheeks. "The 'yes' dance will go down in history"

"Ms Donovan…" Lestrade warned but Sally carried on.

"Who could forget the night you both made complete asses of yourselves? Absolute dick heads" John sank back, feeling her words mock him in the way he knew that would happen. It is what he had feared ever since he saw the video, being bullied. Sherlock sprang up from his seat and plucked his scarf off the end of the table.

"I think we have had enough of this for one day" He nodded to Lestrade and sent an icy glower towards Sally. "Thank-you for your time, let's go John" Sherlock swept over, clutching possessively onto John's shoulder and pulling him up out of his chair.

"Now just hold on a minute!" Lestrade called but there was no stopping him. Sherlock marched himself down the hallway with John struggling to keep up at a walking pace. He spoke in an irritably fast pace, not even pausing for breath as he muttered dark and horrible things.

"Sherlock, Sherlock slow down!" John called, braking into a jog. He tried to follow on after his partner, keeping his head down in a failed attempt of being discreet. It didn't really matter anymore anyway; the whole of Scotland Yard had already torn their professional image apart. Sherlock pushed through the sliding door and onto the cold street. The rain was now pelting down, showering over the two of them.

"What the hell was that all about?" John panted. Sherlock extended his arm, hailing a taxi.

"We are going home. We can have some tea and a sit down" Sherlock chewed up and spat out each word, his teeth grinding together. John recognised that tone of voice and said nothing. Right now Sherlock was a thunder storm and John didn't want to raise an umbrella. The two suddenly became three as Sally stepped out into the rain after them.

"Get back inside. We are not done talking yet"

"I'm not under arrest so I have the right to leave whenever I want" Sherlock explained, watching as a taxi swerved out of traffic towards them.

"Oiy! Listen to me. I know I was never the nicest person to you Sherlock" John rolled his eyes at the understatement of the year. "But I need your help" Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

"And why would I want to do that?" He growled. The taxi came to a stop next to them. Sherlock turned and clicked open the car door.

"Because" Sally reached out and grabbed onto Sherlock's shoulder, pulling him back to face her. She let go, noting the horrified look on Sherlock's face that she had actually touched him. "I can do something for you" Sherlock raised an eye brow.

"And what" he leaned stepped back, his hand on the dark car's roof. John watched the scene like a fan sitting at home watching the telly, waiting in suspense for the characters next line.

"I thought you would have guessed that I have a YouTube account" Sally let a sly grin paint her face. "One of my videos has recently gone viral. I don't think you need further explaining" Sherlock's expression turned to stone. "Find him and you will never have to see that video ever again"

Sherlock clicked open the taxi door and slipped inside without another word. Sally took a step back, allowing John to pass into the cab. The consulting detective didn't look back at her smug face, he didn't need to. John clambered in and yanked the door closed behind them, cutting off the hiss of the rain. Sherlock sat across from him, his knees tucked up under his chin and his glare now strewn out the window. John said nothing for a while and let the cab rumble back out onto the street.

"Where to?" The cabby called.

"Regents park" Sherlock stated, not shifting his position.

"Any reason we are visiting the park?" John asked, trying to keep the conversation moving.

Sherlock turned to John, a hint of a smile lighting up the corners of his mouth. "We are off to find our wanker, Anderson, John. The first place to start is the zoo"


	9. Sherblocked

The rain drummed onto the roof of the little admission room sitting lonely outside the gates of the Zoo. The man inside nearly had a heart attack when Sherlock swooped down and rapped on the glass window. His paper slid out from his fingers in fright at the instantaneous appearance of the pale man. John couldn't blame the ticket man though. Sherlock did have that vampiric, undead style about him. Lucky for him the 'I watch you while you sleep' look was in right now.

"Blimey" The man uttered, sliding the window open. "You nearly scared me out of my skin, son"

"Two tickets" Sherlock stated with disinterest, sliding 10 quid along the counter.

_Does this man have some kind of endless money dispenser stuck up his ass? _The ticket man nodded with a ruffle of his chalky moustache, his fingers clicking on the ticket dispenser.

"It's a bit damp for a day at the Zoo, hope you boys brought an umbrella along" John smiled politely, and grabbed up the tickets as Sherlock collected the change. As their hands passed over each over, their matching rings glimmered from the rays over the overhanging light. John didn't really think about it until the ticket keeper raised an eye brow. "Is today a special anniversary?" He asked, giving off one of those vibes you get from a parent when his child goes out on a first date.

_Oh my god, why is everyone so bloody smitten about us!_

"No, just another day out" Sherlock replied. John shot Sherlock an exasperated look.

_Yeah, we like to go to the Zoo and snog outside the front of the lion enclosure because we get off on the thrill! Way to be subtle Sherlock…._

John nodded once to the man, avoiding all eye contact, and followed Sherlock in through the gates. The consulting detective was striding at a sharp pace, forcing John to half jog to keep up with him.

"So, what makes you think that Anderson is here?" John asked. Sherlock took a swift left, moving undercover towards an information marquee.

"A detail. From last night" Maps of the park, posters, drawing competitions and ads littered the box. Sherlock reached down and plucked a map from one of the slots.

"And that detail would be?"

"Not important" Sherlock's grey eyes swept down the page. John bit his lip. Sherlock was keeping something from him and knowing Sherlock, he was going to keep it well hidden.

"Sherlock, I am in this just as much as you are…."

"Given your current state and emotional reaction to the previous events I thought it would be wise to just leave out the detail" Sherlock folded the map away into his pocket and was back, rummaging his hands through one of the behind slots.

"My emotional state?" John spluttered.

"Here. Put this on" Sherlock shoved something cardboard into John's hands.

"What the hell is this?" The doctor held out a cardboard pop up hat with the Zoo's logo printed out onto it. A colourful spotty giraffe stood proudly on the front, its neck reaching up to a ridiculous height. When he looked back at Sherlock he was fixing his own onto his springy dark curls.

"We need to blend in. The circumstance of an assaulted police officer lost in a park full of potentially deadly animals would just set the parks peaceful state into chaos" Sherlock let his hands fall back into his pockets. John scoffed. Sherlock could tell a whole person's life story just by what they had for breakfast but he was ignorant to the fact that the park was virtually empty besides a tourist here and there (noting that none of them were wearing stupid hats).

_He will just keep avoiding your question. Go along with it. _

"Can't I at least have the elephant one?" John whined.

"No"

"Why not?"

"Because John, I have the elephant one and if we both wore the elephant one it would look just plain absurd" John resisted the urge to strangle his partner and let out a sigh instead. Sherlock watched John expectantly, not about to move a single one of his muscles until John gave into his demand.

Dr Watson, the ex-soldier, popped the giraffe hat into the shape of a ring and placed it over his head. The neck of the cardboard animal was so extravagant that Sherlock could kiss the tip of its snout effortlessly.

"Happy now?" John grumbled.

"I'm not unhappy" Sherlock answered, although the sudden delighted skip in his step told a different story. "Now then, I think we should take the nosy ticket salesman's advice and get an umbrella" For probably the first time in the whole day he couldn't agree more with Sherlock. It was bad enough that he had to search an entire Zoo with hangover with a stupid hat but being soaked to the bone would not make the experience any more comfortable. He followed Sherlock's order to wait undercover while he ventured off to the gift shop.

John leaned up against the cement wall, letting his head tilt back.

_Sherlock doesn't want to tell me his reason for being here. I know he is hiding something from me but what? Is he embarrassed by something we did? He didn't seem too bashful after the 'yes dance… _John didn't have much time to gather his thoughts. What seemed like only a few seconds turned out to be much more.

"Alright John, let's get a move on" Sherlock stood opposite him, an umbrella perched up on his shoulder and opening out into a canopy above his head, resembling his sibling immensely.

_Sherlock out of all the umbrella's?_ It was another one of the park's absurd products. An image of a jungle cat was printed with the words _'this cougar is on the prowl_' practically bursting from its surface in chunky gold letters. All thoughts of Sherlock being self-conscious were banished from John's thoughts.

"Don't be so derogatory" Sherlock retorted. "It was this one or '_I'm beary cute_'. The cougar suits me better than a fuzzy Koala which is not even a bear in the first place. To think a Zoo such as this could not make the distinction is worrying"

"Whatever" John grumbled, shuffling up under the umbrella and out of the pour. He tried to distance himself from Sherlock but the tight line between dry and wet kept forcing him into his partner. And off they set, the two of them wondering down the pathway under the single umbrella. John and Sherlock, like jam and bread, people would always say. John used to be creeped out by the idea that him and Sherlock were considered a paring and that some people even found it sexy in a way. Although the close partnership was something that he had learned to live with, he could never get past the fact that Sherlock was his own type of woman-bug-repellent. Whenever he was at Sherlock's side, he found it almost impossible to make more than eye contact with any attractive woman, or any kind of woman for that matter.

"John! This way, quickly!" Sherlock suddenly sped forward, leaving John without shelter.

"What is it Sherlock?" John broke into a jog, on Sherlock's heels, like a hunter with his dog on a scent.

"I knew this was where we would find him…."

"Anderson?" John asked but Sherlock had disappeared down the steps and into an enclosure. John followed on after Sherlock, cautiously stepping down into the gloom. "Sherlock?"

"John! Come and look!" It was Sherlock's voice, calling out excitedly. John stepped through the doorway. He felt his stomach tighten as John caught a glimpse of a sign reading 'Lion's den'.  
>"Ahh… Sherlock"<p>

The detective was pressing his pale palms up against the glass window, leaning in excitedly. It would have been a nightmare come true, the idea that Sherlock was chuckling darkly to himself whilst Anderson was mauled to death by jungle cats.

"Amazing animals, lions are" Sherlock muttered. John let his shoulder slump. No, Sherlock wasn't having a immature spasm over a violent death, the lazy big cats beyond the glass was enough. Big bright eyes, toothy grin, ecstatic movements. Something inside the detective was unleashed. It was strange though, while the doctor spent his time looking for Anderson under benches and in the bushes, Sherlock made sure that the assaulted cop wasn't anywhere near the parrot who could say 'hello' with enough motivation. Or with the monkeys (he made extra sure when he was feeding them peanuts out of his palm). Sherlock made sure that he couldn't find Anderson with the giraffes, or that he wasn't hiding somewhere in the butterfly enclosure. There was also no sign of him inside the cotton candy machine either. Oh yes, Sherlock left no stone unturned.

John nearly felt like his legs were going to detach from his body and run away with their last ounces of strength. He let out a long sigh as he plonked himself down on a pile of straw. The smell of animals was everywhere, clinging to his clothes and biting at his skin.

"Sherlock…. I really don't think you will find Anderson in the petting zoo" John moaned.

"John, out of the two of us, who do you think would be more likely know how to find Anderson?" Sherlock asked, still jittering with juvenile excitement. It was like the zoo had set off a spark and now this was endless firework display.

"But we have been wandering around the park all afternoon!" John scolded.

"Fine then. You can wait here while I make sure Anderson is not underneath any one of these small fluffy creatures" And with that, Sherlock parted from John at last, striding gracefully toward a pod of school children getting a display on baby chicks.

John sat up against the tin wall and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He let out a puff of air, the sting of his headache rising back up again. _When I was thinking, how this day could get any worse, it was supposed to be a rhetorical question, not a person challenge_. John cursed to whatever divine being was sitting up on its thrown.

"They can be a challenge, can't they?" A female voice, but not sharp or brooding. That was a new one for today.

John looked up at a brunette, about his age, perched up next to him on the straw. She was pretty, had that soft look about her, rugged up in coats and scarves. John felt a change of character.

"Little ones I mean" She said with a warm smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. No ring.

"Kid's yeah. Mine is a handful" John said, smiling about a pun she wouldn't understand.

"Yeah well, I got three triplets, all 5 years old"

"You are kidding" John straightened up. "Super woman has competition" She laughed at his incredibly flat joke.

"Mummy!" Three little girls trampled each over to get to her, all clambering and stumbling in heavy purple rubber boots.

"That meany stole my chick!" One of them blubbered.

"And called me stupid" joined another.

"And told me I had a funny face!" the third cried.

"Oh sweet hearts that's terrible!" The woman stood up, taking her daughters hands in hers. "Bullies. I mean the nerve of some parents to let their kids act out like that!" She scoffed. John stood.

"To think. The nerve of some people" The mother nodded and got down on one knee.

"Who was being a meany girls? Point him out and I will have a word with his mummy" The three girls nodded, their bottoms lips trembling as they pointed over to the other end of the petting zoo.

"That one!" They all cried in unison. The bully caught their glance, moving up off the ground and making his way over to them.

"Go away!" The three little girls blubbered. One of them noted "He has still got my chick!"

"John! John, look at this little guy!" Sherlock gently opened up his hand to reveal a black and white baby chicken, resting in his palm. "John! Isn't he adorable? Right John! John? John, look at it!"

"Sherlock…" John grunted. He threw an apologetic smile to the woman.

"So this one is yours?" Her kind expression was now a swirling dark vortex.

John squeaked a nervous laugh. "Kids hey? What can you do?"

"Give me back my chick" The small triplet kicked at Sherlock shin. Sherlock backed off a little and pocked his tong out at her.

"No. This infant hen is far too fragile for you to man handle like a caveman!" Sherlock spat back. The woman grabbed onto her children, storming off out of the petting zoo without another word.

_Sherlblocked. Once again. _


	10. Green Dinosaur

"Keep your hands off of me!"

"Just let them Sherlock…"

"First taking my chick and then taking my rights in the petting zoo!"

"Shut up. Just stop talking" John begged. Sherlock and John were both escorted out of the petting zoo after someone complained about 'misconduct around other guests'.

"This is ridiculous. That kid knew it was my turn to pat the rabbit…" Sherlock continued on as a set of sturdy hands guided him from the building. The two security guards placed Sherlock outside on a nearby bench and nodded to John.

"You may want to get him home… or whatever mental institute you busted him out of" The one of the guard's muttered. John knew getting defensive would just get them kicked out of the park all together and time was running out.

"Yes sir. Thank-you" John waited for them to disappear back into the complex before checking his watch. John looked over at a now pouting Sherlock Holmes sitting up on the pew. He strode over, taking a seat next to his friend. At least the rain had stopped, that was a small blessing.

"It's 4.30 now, Sherlock. I think we should call it quits" John stated, steering the subject away from the fact that Sherlock shoved over a bratty 4 year old.

"The Zoo closes at 5. We have plenty of time" Sherlock stated, not manoeuvring his gaze.

"That's thirty minutes and we have been all around the park at least once with no sign of him. He's not here" John persisted.

"Are you saying I'm wrong?" Sherlock twisted his head to face John, his eyes simmering into him.

"No… I'm just saying that you may have made a…"

"I don't make mistakes John. Anderson is here and I know exactly where to find him" Sherlock sprang up from the bench and out of his gloomy mood. His hands glided up to his coat collar and turned it out.

"Hang on" John started. "So this whole time we were here… you knew exactly where Anderson was"

"Yes. Your detective skills are improving" Sherlock sorted the graphitised blue scarf into a knot around his pale neck.

"So all these hours of searching were for nothing?" John exploded, jumping hot and bothered onto his feet.

"No. I got to see monkeys and feed them peanuts. That was defiantly worthwhile" Sherlock specified, pulling the scarf tight. "Are you done asking questions?"

"Just one more" Sherlock raised an eye brow.

"hm?"

"How do you know where Anderson is?" John locked his eyes with Sherlock, signalling that he means business.

"John, I…"

"Don't give me some random excuse. The least you can do for me is tell me the truth and stop hiding it from me" John pressed on. To his surprise, the corner of Sherlock's lips turned up in a half smile half smirk. If the situation was different, John would have melted.

"In due time, I will tell you but not now. Our wanker needs us" This time Sherlock didn't just take off, he moved side by side with John in a relaxed pace that almost set John uneasy.

"Ok so if you are going to keep up with this 'aloof' thing. Can you tell us where we are headed?" John asked, tucking his hands away into his jacket pockets.

"Dinosaur exhibit" Sherlock replied.

"And the reason would be…?"

"Everyone loves dinosaurs John"

"But that is not the reason you know Anderson is there?"

"Nope"

"Offcourse not"

The dinosaur exhibit was the only exhibition in the entire zoo that didn't have a cuddly animal on display for Sherlock to go ga-ga and 'spoilt little brat' over. There were fossils held behind glass cases and little buttons for children to press to hear random dinosaur roars, but the thing that stood out the most was the T-rex monument mounted up on a pedestal. Surrounding the giant lizards green feet (another park inaccuracy that made Sherlock's hair line retract) was some artificial shrubbery, dense enough to hide a person inside.

"Any bets on where Anderson is hiding?" Sherlock glanced over at John, about to answer but then stopping himself, noting it was a rhetorical question. The two of them stepped up onto the pedestal, balancing on the concrete wall. Sherlock was the first to drop onto the fake ferns, his shoes making a low crunching noise on the bark lining the floor. John followed after him, landing in a not so cat-like stamina that Sherlock did. I didn't take long to locate Anderson, only a bit of a tussle with the bushes and a few clumsy falls into the dirt.

Anderson was lying, curled up in a ball, directly underneath the statue. Sherlock and John stood over him, not quite sure how they were going to move him. Anderson's face was wrapped underneath his arms. His usual repulsive hair style was now a tangled grotty mess, launching itself through the gaps in his arms. John was the first to move; he crouched by Anderson's side and gently placed two fingers to man's neck.

"He's alive" John said, looking up at Sherlock. The consulting detective bent over and slipped his hand into Anderson's exposed pockets.

"Offcourse he is alive. The only positive thing that has happened to us today was the end of the downpour, I don't think we are fortunate enough to have another stroke of luck" How negative, yes, Sherlock Holmes was back. Anderson's phone wasn't anything special so there were no incriminating codes to brake. Sherlock's fingers rammed away at the miniature keys.

"What are you doing now?"

Sherlock slid the phone into his breast pocket. "Holding onto it, for safe keeping. It wouldn't be a surprise if there are more humiliating video's where the last came from" John didn't argue.

"So how do you suggest we move him?" He asked. Sherlock tucked his hand under his chin, considering it for a second. He circled Anderson's coiled up form like a bird of prey before coming to a stop beside John.

"You will need to carry him"

"Me?" John scoffed. He wasn't Anderson's worst enemy; he just didn't particularly want to come into close contact with him. "Why can't you carry him?"

"I don't have the stamina or muscle tone that you do and besides, he repulses me" Sherlock didn't leave it up to discussion. He had already begun to move from the monument, whipping out his phone. John glanced back down at the dozing cop. The smell of vomit and alcohol was present on him, much like how John had been earlier in the day. He got down and shuffled his arms underneath Anderson's body and awkwardly lifted. Surprisingly, Anderson wasn't as heavy as he suspected. John stumbled back as the pressure of Anderson's body on his was suddenly on him. John let his arm slip under Anderson's knees and to cradle his back, bridal style. Anderson's face rolled back to face John, eye lids fluttering. There was a dark purple bruise forming like a cloud over his left eye. The empty bottle of cheap wine slipped from his fingertips and rolled off into the shrub. Anderson let out an unintelligent moan.

"Charming" John wrinkled his nose as the stench of alcohol leaked form Anderson's mouth. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at John, a look on his face that was a mix between amusement and a scowl. John felt Anderson stir in his arms and held still. A pair of arms reached up around John's neck and pulled him close with a little murmur, dragging John into a strangling hug. Sherlock stifled a chuckle. "Oh shut up you lunatic" John griped and began to clamber his way clumsily down. Sherlock was of course, impatient with John's steady movements. John carried the slumbering Anderson in his arms delicately, using all his strength to keep the drunken detective unconscious. Sherlock hovered, occasionally circling John, as they moved towards the exit. And, as per usual, the got some funny looks from other park goers.

_Nothing to see here_…. John thought, _just one heterosexual guy carrying another heterosexual guy out of a zoo. Nothing quire going on._

They passed by the ticket man's booth on their way out, the nosy salesman leaning out of his window and eye balling them as they moved towards the main road. The corners of his round cheeks swelled as he gave them a mischievous grin, all sorts of dirty thoughts passing through his mind.

"So… you going to text Lestrade or…" John finally spoke, getting over his initial embarrassment.

"Already on it. Sally is on her way with a truck" Sherlock didn't look at John; his eyes were fixed on the road. The tall, pale man didn't want to look at his partner, not while he was nursing Anderson so. It made him feel genuinely sick to the stomach. John nodded his reply.

"Meehhnna…" Anderson stirred again, suddenly coming back to life.

"Anderson?" John asked. The cop's eyes slowly slid open, gazing up wistfully at John.

"Joohhnnn…" He slurred, still intoxicated. Sherlock took a step toward John, watching over the smaller man's shoulder.

"Good afternoon Anderson" Sherlock sneered. "At least he can't speak under his heavy inebriation. That is a bonus"

"Sherlock…" Another airy response. Sherlock rolled his eyes, losing interest in Anderson's lame moans.

"Yes hello you little twit. Have a nice doze?" Anderson blinked at Sherlock's nasty comment. Behind his dull eyes, his mind was chugging back into gear.

"you would 'av 'ad a better one" Sherlock froze, his eyes widening only slightly. "With ol' Johnny here" A giggle.

"Shut up, you drunken mess"

"What is he on about?" John asked and more importantly, "can I put him down now?"

"I don't know what he is talking about" Sherlock muttered.

"Oh how could you forget Sherly?" Anderson's face titled slightly. "I remember it"

"Anderson what the devil are you talking about?" John asked the man in his arms.

"He is clearly drunk. He has no idea what he is on about" Sherlock answered for him. "What is taking Sally so bloody long?"

"Oh don' plah dumb Sherl-l-l-lock. Don't you remember it Jawn?" Anderson slurred John and Sherlock's name's, rolling it around in his mouth.

"Ignore him" Sherlock strode a few paces away, his neck craning irritably up the street, tapping his foot. John watched Sherlock's sudden change of behaviour, he was anxious. John felt a tug on his collar. Anderson was trying to get his attention.

"Jawn? Hey Jawn? Do you not remember?" He whispered. John flinched at the odour.

"Remember what?" John asked, dipping his head down.

"Last night…. You and Sherlock were…." More fits of giggling.

"Were what? Spit it out Anderson" John shook Anderson, trying to snap him back to the real world.

"Well… I can't say because it is naughty to tell…" Anderson was starting to sound more like a little kid with a big secret than a full grown man. Sherlock had returned from his pacing, standing a few feet away from them. Anderson let his head tilt back to face the clouds and he opened his mouth again. "But I can tell you this John. It sounded like…"

Sherlock's face turned to stone. He felt like a convicted man, lining up for the bullet in his head. There was no stopping Anderson, it was too late for that. Sherlock could only stand and watch the words spill from his lips.

"OH JAWN! YES! OH OH YES!" Insane moaning of ecstasy ripped through the afternoon traffic. It was a terrible mimic. A firm hand grabbed onto John's collar and gripped tight. "And then there was a SHERLOCK! PLEASE DON'T STOP! OH SHERLOCK! AH! YEAH!" Anderson continued to scream out to into the sky. When Anderson was finally finished he collapsed into a fit of laughter.

John looked up at Sherlock. Sherlock looked back at John. Anderson fell as every limb on John's body went numb, smacking onto the pavement.


	11. The thing

First there was confusion, a problem that didn't add up. As much as John tried it was impossible to solve. Then there was fear. Pure and utter fear. The fear you would get as a child who has shoplifted a candy bar, that nagging feeling that just eats you up from the inside. The rest of his emotions just came a circuit, coming and going like the lights on a Christmas tree.

John stood there with Anderson whining at his feet and the traffic whizzing past him. None of that mattered though. He felt himself detach.

"John" Sherlock took a cautious step closer. "John" The little doctor took in a frantic breath, aware that he had stopped breathing all together. Sherlock reached out and placed his hand gently on John's shoulder. John battered Sherlock's hand away.

"No… no no, don't touch me" John stuttered, taking a few steps back. "Just don't" Sherlock nodded and dropped his hand by his waist. There was deadly silence between the two. John really didn't know how to feel. This was big. It was huge. It was going to change everything.

"Well this is awkward" Anderson commented from at John's feet. Sherlock's eye brow spiked, a snarl ripped out from him as he launched himself onto the drunken cop. John barely had time to react as Sherlock coiled his fingers around his prey's neck.

"I'M GOING TO BOIL YOU ANDERSON!" Sherlock hissed, rolling on top of the drunken cop. Anderson let out a choked gargle and flung his arms and legs at an attempt of an attack. John leapt out of the way as Anderson suddenly kneed Sherlock in the stomach, sending the dark haired detective onto his back with a loud FFOOO! Anderson straddled Sherlock, pinning him into place on the pathway. John watched helplessly from the side lines as Anderson and Sherlock flailed around, sending smacks and hits into each overs faces.

"Alright alright! Cut it out!" John grabbed hold of limb, not being able to tell whose it was and tried to yank its owner away. This only ended with John being pulled to the ground with them, joining in on the scuffle. John wasn't sure how long they were fighting for, or even who exactly who he was fighting with and to be honest, he really didn't care. It felt good to punch someone, even if that someone was possibly the man you married and slept with the night earlier.

"OI! STOP IT!" A shrill voice cut through the buzz of the traffic. Sally Donavan leapt from her car, sprinting towards the three men. "KNOCK IT OFF!" She hooked her arms around Anderson's torso and tore him away from them. Anderson didn't put up much of a struggle, as soon as he had gotten enough distance from Sherlock and John he tried to get back on his feet. Sally aided him, managing to get him upright, not realising that Sherlock and John were still brawling a few meters away.

Sherlock had John in a headlock, his body curling over John's back like a cape. Meanwhile John was grabbing fistfuls of Sherlock's hair and giving it a sharp tug.

"You psychopathic freak!" Sally left Anderson to stand on his own, charging toward them. With one sharp kick, she plunged her foot into the back of Sherlock's thigh. The taller man let out a groan, retracting from John and hitting the ground with a thud. John broke away, struggling to regain his breath. "What is god's name is going on here!" Sally screeched, her features flaring red. No-one spoke at first; they were far too occupied with taking in gulps of air. Anderson was the first to talk.

"Eeeww" He whined. He turned his palm out, keeping it at a distance from his body. "Sherlock bit me!"

"And you tasted terrible…"

"I don't taste terrible!" Anderson squeaked back.

"You look terrible" Sherlock noted.

"So? We can't all look like sexy vampire models like you can we?" Anderson ran his fingers through his hair, sniffling a little. Sherlock didn't have a comeback for that one. Sally sighed.

"So that's it? You were fighting because Anderson tastes bad?"

John cleared his throat. "No no, we were just having a scarp. You know. Manly stuff you wouldn't understand" He rambled on, fidgeting with his clothes. "Alright so we found Anderson, you have car. Sherlock and I will get out of your hair then" Only three people knew the truth, John didn't want that number to grow to four.

"We were fighting because I told John that he and Sherlock shagged liked animals last night" There he goes again. John felt Anderson's drunken slurs hit him in the stomach like an arrow.

In a blink of an eye, Sherlock's hands were on Anderson's neck once again.

"SKIN YOU! I WILL TURN YOU INTO A FREAKING HAT! A HAT MADE FROM ANDERSON SKIN!"

After prising Sherlock off Anderson for a second time, Sally gave in to her part of the deal. She tossed her phone to Sherlock and let him work away at it, deleting every last video from last night. Even though John knew it was all in his head, he felt like there was a weight lifted from his shoulders now that the 'Yes' dance was no longer an issue. Finally, John and Sherlock assisted Sally getting Anderson into the back of the police car. The cop put up a bit of fight, complaining that he should get to bite Sherlock so they were even.

"If you put your mouth anywhere on my skin I will end you" Sherlock rumbled in a voice that even frightened John. Sally buckled up in the front seat and wound down the window.

"Lestrade says that all charges will be dropped. Professional courtesy and all that" She turned the keys in the ignition and the van buzzed to life. "He will be checking up on you tomorrow"

"Thanks Sally" John answered for Sherlock, the detective was to busy glaring over the fact that she had so easily blackmailed him. The window from the back seat wound down. Anderson stuck his head out, peering up at Sherlock.

"Hey Sherlock!" He called. Sherlock snapped around, a dangerous look in his eyes.

"What?" Sherlock snapped back. In one flued movement, Anderson stretched up out of the car window and cupped his hands around Sherlock's cheeks, bringing him in for a swift kiss. It was only a quick brush, Anderson poking out and back in again like a hedgehog. It was like watching bugs bunny giving Elmer Fudd a quick smacker just to piss him off. John caught the sound of Sally chuckling to herself as the car sped away.

Sherlock stood, a statue depicting a very ticked off detective. "John"

"Yeah?"

"Remind me to punch Anderson's good eye" His tone was cold enough to unleash a blizzard on the Sahara desert.

* * *

><p>Bumper to bumper traffic. Perfect. They had been sitting in the cab for what felt like decades, saying nothing. The roads were so congested that the cabby had taken out a newspaper and was skimming through the comics section. It was obvious that Sherlock and John would not be back in the comfort and privacy of 221B Bakers street for a while. John couldn't stand the silence any more. He knew if he didn't talk about it soon he would never get another opportunity.<p>

"Sherlock…" John turned to his best friend. Sherlock had his head resting against his fist, his eyes staring blankly out the window. "umm… so… how are you feeling?"

Sherlock looked over at John. "How am I feeling? I've just had Anderson's lips on me, certainly your deductions skills aren't that shallow to not have an idea of how I must be feeling"

"No not about that" John shifted his weight unconsciously. "I mean about… last night" Sherlock glanced over at him giving him one of those 'you're going to have to be more specific' looks. "I mean about the…. The thing"

"The thing?" Sherlock didn't take long to decipher it. "Oh yes. The thing" Another awkward pause. "I don't feel anything in particular about it"

"Oh come on Sherlock. This is a real… thing. You know. A big thing. You must feel something about it" John persisted.

"No. not really" John frowned.

"Sherlock, I know relationships are not your forte but this isn't just like finding out that we kissed a little. This is full on, you and me. I thought you would have a little more of a reaction, since you are a…"

"**Was **a virgin John" Sherlock corrected, almost proudly. "And no. The fact that I no longer have to carry the burden of not following by society's expectation is a relief. All the better that it was done with you and not some random female that I share no emotional bond to" Sherlock spoke like this was pure fact, not withholding anything. John felt a scarlet blush form over his face until he caught on to something.

"Hey hang on… earlier today you tried to stop Anderson from telling me, like you knew that he knew, and the only way that you could know that he knew is if you knew all along" It sounded like a bad nursery rhyme. Sherlock went back to staring out the window.

"Yes there is that…"

That bashful feeling was gone burnt away by a sudden spark of anger. "You knew that you and I had had sex and you never told me?" He blurted, not caring whether the cabby heard or not. Sherlock said nothing. "Wha- How long were you planning on not telling me? Were you never going to tell me?" John spluttered, firing rapid questions at Sherlock. "Is there anything else you're not letting on? Am I going to hear from Anderson that we also had seven minutes of heaven in Lestrade's office?"

Sherlock raised his eye brows, taking in a breath to reply.

"No no, don't answer that" John swept over Sherlock. "It may not mean much to you because you have the emotional range of a chair but this means a great deal to me"

"John its just sex. Over 60,000 different couples do it each day. This isn't out of the ordinary" John felt the car began to pick up pace, the strangling embrace of the traffic no longer holding them in place.

"My god you ignorant bastard! This is out of the ordinary for us! I'm straight and I wouldn't even know what the hell you are" John exploded.

"Asexual John"

"Well not any more since you screwed me in front of a god dam giant green lizard!"

"Under it actually" Sherlock corrected. "If you have no memory from last night then why would you know that we did it there?" John grew silent. Word vomit wasn't something you could control. He didn't know where that came from, maybe he did remember it, just his brain didn't want to. John noticed Baker Street coming into view. As soon as the car came to a stop John flung his door open and stalked up the steps. Sherlock paid the driver and followed hurriedly after his partner. John was relieved to find that the front door was unlocked; Mrs Hudson must have been expecting them. He shoved through the door and stormed up the stair case.

"Hello dearies" The landlady heard the sudden entry of the smaller man and peeped her head out from around the corner. "I was worried when you didn't turn up last night…" John was half way up the flight when Sherlock ran in, ignoring Mrs Hudson completely. He grabbed hold of John's arm.

"John what are you so upset about?" He demanded.

"Don't touch me you prick!" John shouted back. Mrs Hudson shrank back a little.

"Not until you tell me why you are so mad" Sherlock persisted.

"Do you boys want me to fetch you some tea or.." Mrs Hudson piped in. The two men didn't even take any notice.

"IT IS BECAUSE YOU AND I HAD SEXAUL INTERCOURSE LAST NIGHT AND YOU DON'T CARE!" John spat back and wrenched his arm free. Mrs Hudson grew pale, like she was going to faint.

"John!" Sherlock called after him but John didn't look back. The ex-army doctor thundered up the rest of the stair case and flung open the door to their section of the flat. John Hamish Watson suddenly found himself plummeting forward, tripping and falling into a sea of jam jars. His body slammed into the floor with a loud thud. A draft of paper, a soft pink shade, drifted slowly down to John, landing before his nose. The words '_Thanks for saying 'Yes_' was scripted in curly hand writing and signed with a love heart. Nestled in the middle of the heart were the initials JM.

**Authors note time! Yeah so things have gotten pretty juicy so far and yes I do plan on continuing it, a new chapter up in a few days or so. Your reviews are always appreciated and I look forward to reading them whenever there is a new chapter out. All story suggestions will be taken into account since you can tell i just make things up as i go along***LISTEN TO BORING from P!nks fun house album**** because I intend on working that in the future chapter. ****Sherlock on Holmie's! **


	12. Musically

It was quite in the flat. After John had gotten over his initial shock of the sudden appearance of countless amounts of jam jars, he had taken off to his bedroom. Sherlock was hot on his heels, calling John's name and begging for a reply. John answered by slamming the door in Sherlock's face instead.

"Leave me alone!" John ordered. There was no reply. In fact for the rest of evening, the flat was almost a ghost town. Sherlock had always moved in a way that was almost feline, silent unless he had an epiphany. John kept to the boundaries of his bedroom. He ordered himself to not talk, look or even think about Sherlock. He was doing just fine, curled up into a little ball in the centre of his bed for hours until he took a whiff of himself. A concoction of barn animals, subway station grot, vomit, sweat and Sherlock clung to his clothes and hair, forming a rather rancid odour that was starting to make John feel nauseas.

"Bugger it" He grumbled, rolling off the clammy sheets. He peeped his nose around the corner, keeping his eyes peeled for any consulting detectives. Once he was sure the coast was clear he tiptoed towards the bathroom. As soon as the steaming water drummed down John's bare shoulders he let out a long sigh of relief. Sherlock could have been standing right on the other side of the shower curtain and John wouldn't have noticed. After probably the longest, most emotionally exhausting day of his entire life, a warm shower felt like a blessing from the Lord. John felt reluctant to leave but standing under the spray of the water for such an extravagant time was starting to make him go pruney. The drained doctor stepped out, dragged a towel over his body, wrapped it around his waist and casually strolled out of the bathroom. In his moment of complete serenity, he forgot about the man he was trying to avoid.

John felt his own body collide with another. He stumbled back, snapping out of his after-shower haze. Sherlock wasn't buffered at all, he just stood there with her spidery fingers curling around Anderson's phone and his eye's not leaving the screen for a second.

"Oh sorry..." John muttered his apology.

"Watch where you are directing your body next time John" Sherlock replied back dully. John then remembered that Sherlock was an ass hole.

"You're the one who wasn't watching where you were going!" He argued back, anger flaring back up again. He scooted around Sherlock and marched towards his bedroom.

"John" Sherlock called.

"I'm not talking to you!" John growled back.

"You are losing your towel" Sherlock pointed out. John felt his cheeks regain that warm glow and his hands flew to his towel, catching it just as it began to free-fall from his hips. He said nothing, not needing to look back at the slight smirk wriggling around on Sherlock's face.

The rain had crept its way back into London, its droplets pattering down like little heartbeats on the roof above John's head. He let out a gush, yanking the blankets up over his head. There it goes again, the screeching of the violin staff against the strings, creating a piercing and unmelodic sound into the night. John clamped both of his hands over his head. He wasn't sure whether Sherlock was doing this to keep him awake or make him talk to him but neither was going to work. It was a struggle but eventually, John felt himself being dragged into the blissful world of the unconscious.

_Oh John…_

_Sherlock's voice moaned in a low monotone, his breath heavy in his ear. John groaned, pushing forward. _

_It's alright Sherlock… I've got you._

_Ahh!_

_I know I know, it hurts a bit… _

_Warmth, a tingling sensation ripped and tore its way up through John's spine and came out in a rushing gasp of air. Two thin soft cushions capturing his lips, stealing a kiss away. The earth began to pick up spinning, whirling in John's ears. Suddenly the warmth was gone. Sherlock was snapped away from his arms. _

_Sherlock! _

_Light's, dazzlingly bright all around him. He was in the company of others but he was alone. Faces of strangers, acquaintances, people he loved and people he hated all staring at him. Laughing and pointing and judging. A gloved hand reached out. _

_John… silly you will miss our wedding if you don't hurry up! Sherlock grinned down at him, a crisp white tuxedo encasing his body. _

_Sher….. John watched bewildered up at the man._

_Yesss…. Sherlock's voice grew into a hiss. Two long fangs extended, protruding out of his smile and jutting into his lips. Icy blue eyes went black, his eyes now nothing but grim holes, drawing John in. The tender look on his face was replaced with a hungry sneer. Sherlock ducked his head down, cupping the side of John's face gently. Another famished smirk. Sharp incisors slashed into John's skin. _

John sat up, whimpering Sherlock's name into the darkness. He found that he was panting, his arms and neck damp with sweat. He blinked a few times, his mind settling back into place.

_Just a dream…_ John repeated to himself. _A nightmare…_He corrected himself. He clambered over to the side of his bed, swinging his legs over to the floor. John wasn't afraid of the dark or anything, but the pitch blackness of the room was starting to cling to him too tight. _A glass of water… yeah… that's what you need._ John excused himself. He stood and peeled away the sticky pyjama shirt and slid his bath robe over his shoulders.

There was a loud sound bursting from downstairs. John wasn't exactly sure what it was but it certainly wasn't the squeal of the violin. No this one was more like a pulse, its beat thumping up through the floor boards. John couldn't be bothered with it though, if Sherlock wanted to blast the radio's at full power at 2 in the morning then he bloody might as well, John didn't have the strength to argue. As he approached his destination, the music grew louder. A loud guitar solo broke through the drum beats. John paused, looking out from the kitchen and into the living room for the source of the music. The stereo was blasting up on the shelf, jittering next to that skull. The most noticeable thing in the room was the lean curly haired man standing up on the coffee table, facing the windows. He had changed out of his filthy suit and replaced it with pair of pyjama pants and a sweater. John's sweater.

"Sherlock?" John called. Suddenly there was a pause in the music.

"Uh that's hot!" Sherlock sang out. The rhythm picked up as the guitar played on. Sherlock rocked his hips with the rhythm, completely oblivious to the confused little doctor behind him.

"Tasty, it's like a cupcake. It's cotton candy. It melts in your mouth!" Sherlock did a 180 spin on the table, turning to face John. He had a hairbrush secured neatly in his palm, holding it up to his lips like a microphone. "And lately I've been getting' hunger pains, when you lick your lips while you CHECK ME OUT!" He did a pelvic thrust off the table and landed with catlike precision on the ground. John didn't know whether to be scared or turned on.

"Um.. Sherlock?" John called over the blasting volume but Sherlock didn't notice. He tilted his head back dramatically.

"Fast car? _boring_. Girlfriend? _Boring_. Got money? _Boring_. Hot friends? _Boring_. Rock bands? _Boring_. Not inter-ested, _no tha-ank-you_!" John raised an eye brow as Sherlock twirled around the fireplace. He jumped back up onto the coffee table, knocking over a pile of books in his wake. The guitar rammed once again as the chorus began. "If you want me, your gunnu have to catch me, if you wanna touch my WOH OH OH!" He jumped up and down, singing along in a poor harmony like a teenage girl at a sleep over. John couldn't stand it any longer. He breezed over to the stereo and yanked out the cord. The music immediately ceased but Sherlock's butchering singing didn't.

"And if you catch me your gunnu have to show me, bet you really want my WO OH OH!" He sang on.

"Sherlock!" John shouted. Sherlock spun around clumsily, knocking more things off as he moved.

"Jawn! When did you get here?" He called out, his eyes wide and his voice bewildered. John bit his lip. He had never seen Sherlock reduced to this state before, sober, and it was simply adorable. Sherlock stepped sloppily from the coffee table and stumbled his way over to John. He hooked his arms around the smaller man's neck and bobbled his head in a similar way to a pigeon. A big goofy grin spread out along his face, his eyes soft and inviting. He wasn't drunk; John couldn't smell a drop of alcohol on him. It was something else.

"Sherlock… what have you been putting in yourself recently" John suspected Sherlock had gotten his hands on medication at the illegal side of the spectrum.

"Besides you John… hmmm" His sleazy remark caused John to try to tug out of Sherlock's grip, only making him curl tighter. "Ah! I know!" Sherlock dragged his arms back and skipped over to the opposite end the room, producing a jar of strawberry jam, opened with a single spoon sticking out of it. "I had some and it tasted funny" Sherlock fingered at the spoon and lifted out a shovel full of the pink substance. He giggled and popped it into his mouth, suckling at the jam. John strode over and latched his hand over the spoon. Whatever drug was in it, it couldn't be good.

"Hey, get that out of your mouth" John scolded. Sherlock shook his head, clamping his teeth down childishly over it. John gave a sharp yank and the spoon flew out with a cartoonish 'pop'.

"That's not what you said last night, Jawn" Sherlock exploded into another fit of giggles. His laughter suddenly cut off, Sherlock's expression growing serious.

"What?"

"You know John…" Sherlock took a step towards his smaller flat mate, slithering his hands up to John's bathrobe. "A true gentleman always takes off a ladies coat" John caught on as Sherlock began to guide the fabric open.

"Sherlock!" John gasped and tore himself away, restraightening himself. "You bloody idiot" He cursed. That only set Sherlock off into row of laughter, simply lavishing the sight of bashful John. Sherlock closed the gap between them once again. He circled his arms around John's figure and lifted him up into a snug embrace. John felt Sherlock sigh sleepily into the roots of his hair. The familiar warmth, the closeness, the friction between his body and Sherlock's was comforting. Sadly he knew this was something he couldn't encourage, not in Sherlock's vulnerable state.

"I think we should get you off to bed" John muttered, guiding Sherlock towards the stairs. Sherlock yanked his body away, staring John down. He did a quick hair flick to the side and stuck his finger into John's ribcage.

"Now hang on a minute. If you want me to go to bed with you then you will have to carry me"

"Sherlock… I'm not trying to get into bed with you…" Sherlock didn't like that answer. He hooped his arms back around John's neck and jumped. As a reflex, John caught onto Sherlock's legs, capturing him in his arms. Sherlock buried his face in John's collar bone. He muttered something that John couldn't understand.

"What?"

Sherlock lifted is head up, pressing his nose into John's cheek. "I said, NEVER HOLD ANDERSON LIKE THIS AGAIN, YOU ARE MINE" He commanded. John felt Deja vu, being the second time he had to carry another man in his arms. He let out chuckle and began to stammer his way towards the stair case. Sherlock's eyes blazed, the vibration of John's laugh rocking through his body and triggering a new thought. Sherlock reached up, grabbing a violent fistful of John's hair and brought him down.

Sherlock's lips cupped John's firmly. Sherlock wasn't an expert on kissing and the fact that he was drugged didn't improve his skills either but John still felt stars explode around him. Sherlock pressed himself forward, spreading his mouth open and tasting John. The doctor felt his arms tremor, his eyes rolling back into his head but he didn't let go.

_John. Drop him and run. Just run back to your room. Don't retaliate. _His subconscious was always the voice he would obey. Tonight was different though. John was later going to convince himself that it was the chemicals in the jam on Sherlock's lips that made him do it but he knew what he wanted. He kissed Sherlock back. He felt a warm muscle slide across his lips and let his mouth open up, only slightly. Sherlock took all the advantages he could get, wrapping his tongue around John's teeth. Blood rushed to his head and John felt his back hit the wall. Sherlock groaned into John's mouth, constricting his arms tighter around John's body. The smaller man was the one to break the sudden smother. He dragged his mouth from Sherlock's, sucking in a deep gasp of air. Sherlock let out a small whimper and collapsed himself back onto John's shoulder.

"I knew it" that deep voice rumbled. "I knew you loved me" John's breathing grew slower although his heart only rammed faster against his ribcage.

"Sherlock… I..."

"I'm sorry John!" Sherlock wailed, a pool of tears brimming up. "I'm sorry! I lied to you"

"What?" John regained control of his body, shifting Sherlock in his arms. He had given up on the idea of carrying Sherlock all the way upstairs and settled with taking him into his room for the night. Sherlock was far too under to complain.

"I was scared John. That's it" Sherlock explained, resting his head at John's neck. "I didn't want to talk about shagging. I was too afraid"

"The great Sherlock Holmes is afraid" John grinned. "That's a new one" He scooted past the corners and down the hall, his room in sight.

"No John, listen!" Sherlock punched him weakly. "I am afraid you will leave me"

"Why would I do that?" John asked, shifting through the doorway. Sherlock let out a yawn.

"Because I am lying to you John" Sherlock confessed without any regrets. John paused before lowering him. He locked his eyes with Sherlock, forcing more out of him. "I knew how to find Anderson… because… because" Sherlock bit his lips. He looked up at John with the saddest puppy dog eyes imaginable.

"Because…?" John's eyes grew intense on Sherlock's. Sherlock would ceil himself back up as soon as he came down from his high, this was his only chance.

"I'm the one who said we should do it" Sherlock declared. It had happened to him all day, a new piece of shocking information but the feeling didn't get old. Like another powerful slap in the face. "Not just the sex, I mean the wedding and the videos. It's my fault John. I'm the naughty one" John lowered the moaning and whining Sherlock onto his bed. He felt like he did when he was younger, tucking his teddy bear away before nodding off to sleep.

"Ssshh" John hushed him. "It's alright you blundering arrogant fool. We'll talk about this tomorrow" John collapsed next to Sherlock, rummaging into position under the covers. "Now shut up and go to sleep" There was a long gap before Sherlock spoke again.

"John…"

"What now?" John grumbled into his pillow.

"Sing 'soft kitty' to me"


	13. Ticklish

It didn't surprise John at all that Sherlock talked in his sleep. He talked so much during the bloody day that not talking at night would just be simply a setback. He didn't say anything incriminating though. No passionate devotes or juicy secrets, no just spouting random crap that poured from his mouth like a leaking tap.

"The miner… in the field" Sherlock muttered, turning over in his sleep. John had positioned himself in the very corner of the mattress with a pillow squishing down over his head.

"Five honey bees… five of them!" Sherlock thrashed back, rolling over once again. A long gangly leg had tossed itself over John's waist. The sweater wearing doctor grabbed hold of the ankle and gave a shove, tossing the leg to where it had once come from.

"The donuts were…. never found" Another mutter. Even when John had eventually fallen asleep he was sure he could still hear Sherlock's chattering.

_Sandals are never to be worn on Tuesdays…._

_Buckets… there are many of them._

_No post on Sundays…_

_Do you think we should wake them? _John's ear twitched as a different voice invaded his mind.

_Don't you think it would be funnier if we got a photo first?_ Another foreign voice said with a chuckle. Was the world having an international conference meeting in 221B Baker Street today? John, reluctantly, let his eyes slide open. The room was blazing with light, picking up every floating dust particle in its rays. It was well into the morning, judging by the muggy temperature in the small room. After a quick glance to his left he soon found out it wasn't the sun that was making him sweat. It was the consulting detective that had coiled around him like a tropical vine. Sherlock's leg twined with John's and his lengthy arms draped over his shoulders. Sherlock's mass off curls was springing up, nuzzling John's cheek from where his head lay on the smaller man's shoulder.

"Good-morning Sunshine" John blinked up through the glare. Two figures were standing vigilant at the end of John's bed. He couldn't make out who it was, only that he could see one broad and one round outline. John groaned, trying to peel himself away from the lengthier man but with no success. The further John's pulled away, the closer Sherlock would come shooting back.

"That's my baby brother. As possessive as ever" That snide comment would only come from one other Holmes.

"Mycroft?" John wriggled up into a sitting position, a grumble of a half-asleep complaint escaping from Sherlock.

"Mornin' John" The doctor rubbed his eyes and watched the room pull back into shape. His greeter was none other than the detective inspector Greg Lestrade. John muttered back something unintelligible, deciding that it was a dream and sunk back down onto the mattress and openly accepted Sherlock's selfish snuggle.

"We should come back later…" Lestrade mumbled to Mycroft.

"Nonsense. All we need to do is motivate them to get off each over and sit down for a civilised conversation"

John heard Lestrade shift his weight on the wooden floor. "And how do you suppose we do that?"

"Flip the mattress?" John grunted and reached to his right, grabbing up one of the pillows up from the lonely side of the mattress and chucking it at Mycroft. The pillow landed square on Mycroft's stomach but the man wasn't buffered by it, in fact he was slightly amused instead.

"You are going to have to do better than that John" The man smirked. John shot up in his place. So this wasn't a dream after all. He felt the tips of his ears flush red.

"Jawn… lay still" Sherlock commanded him in a weak voice drunken with sleep. John's attention was shifted back to Sherlock, who was still locking him in a tight embrace. John shifted himself, wriggling towards the edge of the bed, only to drag Sherlock with him.

"I'll be with you in a minute" John told them. Lestrade nodded, already feeling uncomfortable to see his colleges sleeping in the same bed together, and turned to leave. Mycroft stopped him though; a firm hand clasping on the D.I's shoulder.

"No need for that. I know the perfect remedy for this situation" Mycroft said with a sly grin. John wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that and while he was trying to figure that out, a hand reached up and grabbed him by the roots of his hair. John let a gasp as Sherlock yanked him back down onto the mattress, constricting his arms securely over John's head.

"Much better…"

"Sherlock!" John grunted from underneath Sherlock's iron grip. Mycroft struggled to contain his enjoyment, strolling casually over to the side where they were currently clumped on.

"No worries, Doctor Watson. I'll have you safe in no time" And with a flicker of his wrist, Mycroft swung his umbrella up into a firm grasp, like night taking out his trusty sword. "I grew up with this man and from experience," He aimed the umbrella at his target. "he will only let go of something precious to him when forced to" John tucked that thought away. _Something precious_. With a gentle jab, Mycroft sent the tip of his umbrella into the back of Sherlock's knee.

The reaction, no matter how adorable it was, was not good for John. Sherlock let out a small squeal like a startled guinea pig. The poke sent the nerves all through his leg into a spasm. He rocketed back, using John's body as a launching pad. Mycroft was on the hunt, placing the jabs continuously into Sherlock's back knee until the detective had fallen clean off the bed.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "There. Problem solved" He was practically over flowing with joy, proud of his little revenge on his baby brother for throwing up on his shoes. Sherlock was still on the ground for a moment before his head rose up, glancing around the room with his eyebrows pulled together. "Hello, sleeping beauty" Mycroft was the first to great him. Sherlock didn't take long to catch on to what just happened. John locked eyes with the startled man and his expression told all. Sherlock, for what seemed like the first time John had ever known him, had a soft pink blush rolling up from his cheeks.

Sherlock seemed choked for words. He nodded to his brother. "Mycroft" he stated. "Lestrade" He said in a half-greeting half-what the hell are you doing in here voice. Lestrade didn't answer though; he was too busy examining something on his shoes. In fact the only person in the room who didn't feel as awkward as a pig in a suit was Mycroft. Sherlock cleared his throat, gathering up the sheet that had fallen around him and draped it over his shoulders, aware of his lack of shirt.

"Well, would you look at the time?" Sherlock started, weaving his way to the other side of the bed. "I think I'll step out and…."

"And what?" Mycroft asked.

"Get some milk" Sherlock answered, trying his best to walk casually towards the door.

"Wait… did Sherlock just say he is getting milk?" John muttered down from the mattress.

"Yes. That's what I'm doing. Getting some milk" Sherlock shuffled out of the room, slamming the door behind them. From behind the door they could hear Sherlock's feet rapidly thudding along the floor as he bolted out, frantically escaping the awkward situation. John turned to Mycroft and only had one question.

"How did you do that?" He asked, purely amazed by the feet's Mycroft performed. The brother of the sociopath simply shrugged.

"Every-one is ticklish somewhere John" He twirled his umbrella around in his classic way "you just need to find the right spot"

* * *

><p>When Sherlock said he was going to get the milk, John was absolutely dumfounded to find that he actually went out, went to the store and bought the freaking milk. Lestrade, Mycroft and John sat around the lounge-room sipping tea and wondering why there was a castle built around Sherlock's chair made out of jam jars. John must not have noticed the fact that Sherlock had sculpted a jam jar palace out jars last night which was understandable, Sherlock was rather distracting. John kept that thought to himself and sipped away at his tea. There was a clatter of keys in the door and the cry of it squeaking on its hinges. Sherlock didn't move in straight away, you could see the bridge of his nose as he peeped around the corner first.<p>

"Dammit" He moved into the sitting room, invading the fortress of jam and plonked a bottle of milk onto the table they were sitting around. "I thought you would have gone home"

"And missed this opportunity?" Mycroft answered, smiling into the rim of his tea cup. Sherlock rolled his eyes and plonked himself down into his seat. All he needed was a pink crown and he would make an excellent king of the castle. Sherlock was still wrapped in John's bed sheet, a pair of flip flops wedged between his frosty toes and plaid pyjama pants sticking out around his ankles. John grinned, only slightly, at the fact that Sherlock had gone out in his pyjamas to buy the milk (which for a fact was actually strawberry milk and not milk at all). Sherlock sent a nasty glare over to his brother.

"Alright boys listen up" Lestrade took charge, being the only man in the room who was acting his age.

"You two have gotten yourselves into a lot of trouble last night. Because of your popularity you have caused quite a stir in the media recently"

"How could that be?" John broke in. "We only sent pictures around to people we knew and Sally deleted the youtube video"

"Well, some people aren't so trusting. You of all people would surely know that people do talk, John" Mycroft answered his question.

"Any how… because of your reputation, wondering around the streets of London doing who knows what has dragged in some of the press asking questions and wanting the full story" Lestrade explained. "I thought it would be fair to warn you that there has been a lot of talk going on over the last few days" Lestrade was doing his best to ease into it lightly, beating around the bush and so on.

"Don't you think that is a bit of an understatement, Lestrade? You did see the front page of the papers this morning" Mycroft sipped again at his tea. "I'm going to get down to the point here" He put his cup down and leaned forward. "You two have made a right mess of yourselves and this time I'm not going to be the one to clean things up like mommy" Another childhood reference that John didn't understand. Mycroft's face was a depiction of complete and utter seriousness, the playful grin long since vanished.

"I'm sorry Mycroft, I don't quite follow…"

"What my brother is pointing, John" Sherlock spoke up finally. "Is that he has arranged for us to make a public announcement. Contradicting himself of course since he is helping us clarify our means publically"

"And by Clarify our 'means' publically you mean…?"

"I have booked you on to 'A.M with London'. You will arrive on set at 9.30am sharp at the studio tomorrow. Try to dress appropriately" Mycroft sent a warning glare over at his little brother before standing. "Anything else you want to add, Lestrade?"

"Um… well no"

"Then let's be off" Mycroft spun on his heel and towards the stair case.

"Please allow me to escort you out" Sherlock hissed, moving after his brother. Lestrade thanked John for the tea and followed on after the Holmes brother. John watched as Sherlock slithered past Mycroft, his hand pausing on the doorhandle that lead out onto the street. Mycroft collected his coat and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Enjoy the rest of your day with John. You two do make a ravishing couple" There was a hint of sarcasm squeezed in between each of Mycroft's words. Sherlock shrugged, lowering his voice only slightly.

"What can I say Mycroft. I guess we both have a weakness for a man in uniform" Mycroft's expression didn't waver, although a crimson blush lit up a by standing detective inspectors.

"I'll be watching for you tomorrow" Mycroft replied. Sherlock turned the handle.

"I wouldn't expect anything less" And with that he opened the door, unleashing a title wave of camera flashes, shouts from reporters and bobbling microphones.


	14. Not what it looks like

** Sherloving you**

** In the early hours of a Saturday morning, two men were spotted wandering around the London streets after a late night of party crashing. Little did the spectators know that it was the world's only consulting detective and his partner who had found themselves out of their wits. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson have become a media sensation after the sudden popularity of the Doctor's blog, sparking up a fascination with the pair that has become worldwide. Now the big question arises, do we have a homosexual genius at our hands? Fellow Detective Anderson has this to comment- **

John chucked the paper across the room with a growl, sending it into an exploding pile of black and white. The front page, the god dam front page! After Mycroft and Lestrade's abrupt departure and the swamping crowds of media on his front doorstep, John found himself in a Sherlock situation. Being bored. His laptop wasn't an option. After finding the humiliating headline in the morning papers he was sure that the comments on his blog were irrupting with questions from demanding readers. Sherlock warned him about borrowing Mrs Hudson's Newspapers but John just had to see for himself.

The picture below the story was a real winner though. It was blurred, like most photos from that dam night were. The photographer had shot a rather tall darkened figure with his arm looped around a shorter man's arm and they appeared to be running off down the street. There was something about the way their limbs were moving when the photo was taken though. John took a closer look to find that the two drunken men were not running, they were skipping, and what seemed to be quite merrily at that. The army doctor nearly tore the paper into frustrated shreds when he read the adjoining sentence, '_they are off to see the wizard'_.

John leapt up out of his seat and crossed the room towards the window. It was going on into the afternoon and the crowd outside 221B Baker Street hadn't thinned, if anything it had gotten worse. He only peeked out of the corner of the curtain for a second to find the sea of heads and chattering fans. He shut it abruptly and wheeled around, collapsing against the living room wall in a huff. Sherlock had cleaned himself, his need for hygiene finally setting in once again and was dressed in his bathrobe. The last time John had seen him Sherlock was digging around in the pantries for something John could only hope was food, as unlikely as that was.

_Ba-ding_ A phone chimed. John's eyes fluttered to a brick phone placed delicately in the centre of the living room floor. It wasn't Sherlock's, his still made that obscene moan left to him by The Woman and John's was in his room, too terrified to look at it in case he found any more videos he never wanted to find. That could only leave one other person. John strode over and bent down with a groan, plucking up Anderson's mobile from the floor boards.

_Did u reed te front page? Sherly+John r idiots lol_. What a charming text Anderson had received from Miss Donavan. John chewed angrily down on his lip and let his fingers tap away on the miniature buttons. He sent back a rather nasty reply with many curse words but for the record, his spelling was completely accurate. John was about to toss the phone at the wall when he heard another Ba-ding.

_Wats ur problm? It al went prufectly. _John raised an eye brow, unconsciously walking back to lean up against the wall.

_Wat did? _He replied. There was a few tense seconds before she replied.

_How hamerd did u get on Fri? te plan dont u remembr?_ A plan?

"John" Sherlock's voice piped up from the floor. John jumped violently, the phone falling to the floor with a clatter.

"Jesus!" John stuttered, collecting himself. "How long have you been sitting there?" Sherlock was sitting cross legged on the floor by the window, basking in the light that was peeping through the open curtain. Set out in front of him was a few petrie dishes with chunks of dark locks thrown in a clump on top. Standing up tall was a rusty instrument John hadn't used since high-school, a Bunsen burner. Sherlock was setting a pair of rubber gloves over his fingers with a neat 'thwak'.

"Five minutes and 36 seconds" Sherlock replied, strapping a set of plastic safety goggles over his head. "Now…" He drummed his fingers against his lips for a few spare seconds. "Oh that's right, can I have some of your hair?"

"My hair…" John repeated.

"Yes. It's for an experiment"

"Are you trying to clone me or something?"

Sherlock slid a match box out of his dressing gown pocket and slid it open, plucking out a thin match. "Just simply passing the time" John sat across from Sherlock, leaning up against the back of the couch. Sherlock placed a set of scissors on the ground and slid them across the floor. They clashed against John's leg, coming to a stop. John was beyond the point of questioning Sherlock and his 'experiments'. He grabbed up the curved metal clippers and with his other hand he placed it over his head, grabbing up a tuft of his hair. He felt his hair give away in his palm as the scissors clamped shut.

"Thank-you" Sherlock plucked the sandy tuffs from John's palm and set them down next to his own. John watched lazily as Sherlock worked his way through his experiment, turning on the gas and setting a purple blue flame spouting from the top of the pipe. There were so many questions left unanswered, John didn't even know where to start.

"So… what are you up to?" Was the best socially awkward John could come up with. Sherlock didn't even raise his eyes from his work.

"I'm sure there are other things you want to ask than light small talk" John smiled dryly at Sherlock's bluntness.

"Well… that is true" John fidgeted a little in his spot. Sherlock didn't say anything; his hand was hovering above the flame, a pair of tongs grasping John's hair in hand. John watched as the dry tuffs went up in smoke, setting a grey cloud up into the atmosphere of the sitting room. "What do you think we are going to say tomorrow?" He asked innocently.

"Well it is obvious isn't it? Simple minded people won't believe the truth; they will only hear what they want to hear"

"And what would that be Sherlock?" John asked. Sherlock kept quite at first, his mind temporarily occupied by the flaming strands of hair.

"That we both have blatant homosexual feelings towards each over that developed over the many tense situations of life and death" He said it all in one breath, much like his usual deductions. "That is what the public wants to hear" John shook his head. He wasn't buying it.

_Bullshit the public wants to hear that._

"Is that what everyone else wants to hear or what you want to hear Sherlock?" Sherlock's head snapped up, taken aback by John's sudden forwardness. John held is ground, knowing he had Sherlock right where he wanted him. There was nothing he could say that could turn this conversation around. Although John hadn't thought of anything Sherlock might** do** that could change the game.

He let the tongs fall from his hand into a clatter on the ground. He gaped like a fish and for once felt scrambled for words. John watched as Sherlock jumped onto his feet, his bath robe twirling behind him. The doctor grinned to himself, Sherlock resembled a startled cat when he was flustered. That giggly sensation was gone when he noticed a thin grey trail following after his flatmate.

"Sherlock…"

"You said it was all fine in the first place John" Sherlock blurted out over the smaller man. "I am just doing what is best for our lively hoods. I would hope that you would do the same"

"Sherlock..."

"I consider myself married to my work of course. Why would I show any sexual interest in you all of a sudden? Nothing has changed. I just want some privacy and the only way to satisfy peoples greedy need to know our business is to tell them something that they can chew on for while" Sherlock continued to babble, spacing himself between the doctor.

"Sherlock!" John launched himself forward after his flatmate.

"What? What is it?" Sherlock shouted, moving back like a repelling force on a magnet.

"You are on fire, Sherlock"

"John this is hardly the time…"

"No you are really are on fire!" Sherlock followed John's gaze to the end of his bath robe. His icy blue eyes widened, taking in the sight of the bottom of his highly flammable bath robe up in flames. He yelped, jumping back slightly. John went into army doctor mode, grabbing up one of the crap telly magazines from a nearby pile of trash. He rolled it up into a thin tube.

"Hold still" John warned. The smaller blonde man bashed at the flames with the rolled up tube, hoping to extinguish the heat. The task became exceedingly difficult, with Sherlock struggling and recoiling as the flames climbed.

"Stop batting at me John! I am a grown man and am perfectly capable of dousing myself!" Sherlock leapt away from the doctor, making a break for the kitchen sink.

"SHERLOCK JUST TAKE THE FUCKING ROBE OFF!" John called after him.

"Unnecessary John" Sherlock called back.

"Oh for god's sake!" John grunted. He charged after his friend, watching in horror as the flames crawled closer and closer towards Sherlock's back. It was only on cases and whilst they were running for their lives when John really felt his soldier side step in. He reached out his arms, grabbing hold the gangly man's waist and yanking him back. Sherlock, momentarily stunned by John's abrupt burst of forte, gave way and felt himself being dragged back. The heat coiled itself around the back of Sherlock's legs but he didn't cry out, instead he bit down on his lip, wincing in pain.

"John, stop man handling me!" Sherlock growled, thrashing to fight him off. The army doctor hooked his fingers around Sherlock's robe, trying his best to pry it from him.

"Sherlock! You will burn yourself!" John pinned Sherlock back against the wall. Sherlock felt his face press up onto the cool glass that could only be the window. He looked down at the onlookers below, meeting a few suddenly curious gazes.

"…If you would just let me get to the kitchen" Sherlock let out a sharp yelp as a tongue of a flame took a sharp lick at his leg. He turned over in John's grip, now with his back smothering the glass. John's fingers pried at the robe, pushing it open with all his might. Sherlock shivered at the sudden cool draft along his bare chest and John seized the opportunity. He yanked Sherlock off the window and slithered his arms around him, dragging the robe from his shoulders.

John didn't hesitate; if he did for a second longer then Sherlock would be well and truly charred. The army doctor balled the spreading flames up in the robe, his eyes flickering around for a safe space to dispose of it. He wasn't exactly why he chose to throw it out the window but his decision was made and there was no turning back. John watched the robe drift toward an ocean of camera flashes and screaming fans.

He blinked a few times as the attention of the greedy admirers was back on him. John was back inside in a flash, shutting the window and drawing the curtains in one fluid movement. "This one is going to be hard to explain" He muttered under his breath.

"Definitely" Sherlock agreed from behind him. John turned, some good Sherlock scolding lined up when he found his voice trapped in his throat. The reason why Sherlock refused to take his bath robe off was suddenly very distinctly clear.

John's hand flew to his face, covering his eyes but not fast enough to get Sherlock's image imprinted on his mind "Sherlock… go put some underwear on. Please"


	15. Plan Service

When you had adapted to a life of running at full pelt down an ally way after a suspected criminal during unholy hours of the morning or staying up all night waiting for a text message that may or may not come, you develop a rather uneven sleep pattern. John had grown used to falling out of bed in the middle of night just so he could wander around the flat, trying desperately to burn off some energy. When sleep was too far out of reach, the small doctor would find himself staring blankly at the TV for an unfathomable period of time. It was because of this sleep defect, John knew about the program A.M with London. It was one of those typical morning shows, with a perky middle aged woman as the host who would bring on celebrities or talk about the latest romance novel on the shelves.

The twist was with this morning trash TV was that the host, Belinda something or other, always made her guests perform or sing or do something ridiculous to get the ratings up. John had a sneaky suspicious that was why Mycroft even chose the program for them to appear on in the first place. The small doctor stared at the pair of tired blue eyes in the mirror. He straightened out his coat once again and fidgeted with the buttons. He leaned in closer, zeroing in on his reflection. John was already anxious enough, given the misleading display they put on earlier, and was attempting everything in his power to keep his mind off the fact that they were behind schedule and Sherlock was still dressing.

John held two of his fingers to his chin, tucking them around a barely visible blemish on the corner of his jaw. He gave a squeeze, absently prodding at the pimple to reach a bursting impact.

Sherlock cleared his throat loudly. John whirled around, his hands flying down behind his back.

"You done there?" Sherlock asked, amused by John's general embarrassment.

"Yes…" John muttered back, not making eye contact. It had been a little tense around Sherlock since the window incident. At first he had a tantrum about how he should never be 'man handled' and then he chucked a spat about how inappropriately John had controlled the situation. Despite this, John still had to rub disinfectant and burn aid over the back of Sherlock's thigh for an hour.

Sherlock swept towards the door with John following close after him. They bid their goodbyes to Mrs Hudson and prepared themselves for the crowds of fans outside. It had grown overnight, the little show up against the window pulling in more curious fans hoping to spot another compromising situation. Sherlock wrapped his gloved hand around the door knob and with his free hand he took hold of John's. The ex-army doctor couldn't help but want to yank his hand back, not used to the touch of Sherlock's palm. But this is what they agreed on. No turning back now. The door clicked open and they stepped into the morning sun. Camera's flashed, questions were shouted and reporters fought their way to the top of the crowd. It was nothing they weren't used to, but only the questions were different this time.

"John Watson? Are you a confirmed bisexual now?"

"Mr Holmes, where do you think this relationship is headed?"

"Doctor, do you plan on having Sherlock's babies now?" The reporters berated. John raised an eye brow but he didn't stop, Sherlock was tugging him through the crows to the awaiting car.

_Have his babies? If anyone still cares I am actually a man._ John stated to himself as Sherlock yanked him through the car door. His body landed with a thump on the leather seat, the door slamming shut behind them. Sherlock wriggled away, sliding over to the far left and clicking his seat belt over his figure. John straightened up, taking a serious position in his seat as the car rolled smoothly out onto the road. Mycroft, the generous brother he was, sent his car to transport them from Baker Street to the studio, although it was more likely to make sure that either of the boys didn't skip out on their appointment with national TV.

"Are you sure you still want to go with the plan?" John asked the smartly dressed man.

"John this is a plan I thought of. Of course I am sure I want to go along with it" Sherlock said, the modest consulting detective he was. John rolled his eyes.

"Alright then" Sherlock had come up with an epiphany the previous night. He called it 'Plan service'. When he had first explained it to John, the smaller man had burst out laughing, thinking it a joke. The look of absolute seriousness painting Sherlock's face told a different story.

"So… you want us to act like a lovey dovey couple… so people will stop asking about it?" John had asked.

"Indeed. You are catching on quicker" And now here they were, speeding down the motor way to confirm what the rumours had been telling. John was nervous at first. The thought that everyone would think he was gay was nerve racking but he thought it through. All the women he did want a relationship with knew he was straight already and the rest he was sure he could convince. Besides, it was difficult to argue with Sherlock when he was lying out on the couch with his bare thighs plonked on your lap.

"There are some rules I want to lay out before this all starts Sherlock" John spoke, his knuckles clenching over his knees. Sherlock tilted his head towards his smaller counterpart.

"I suppose you would" Sherlock stated back.

"No extreme touching"

"Alright"

"You may not grab me or grope me at any given time"

"Hypocrite…" Sherlock grumbled.

"Sherlock!" John warned. "Also, I am doing the talking and the explaining. God knows what rubbish you might come up with"

"Fair enough" Sherlock stated as the car rolled to a stop. "Anything else you want to add?"

"Oh yeah" John took Sherlock's hand and they moved out in unison. "Try your hardest to make it through the day without it looking like we are shagging up against a window" They couldn't help but snicker. The location of the studio was in one of the denser streets in London. Lucky for them, the photographers were at a minimal of about three or four. Sherlock and John moved hand in hand up the steps and into the reception area. There was a young woman awaiting them, a black head piece attached to her ear and her eyes down on a clipboard.

"Watson John and Holmes Sherlock?" She asked, uninterested by the whole scenario. John had seen Sherlock around witnesses. He would adjust his attitude accordingly, even so much that he could take on a completely different identity itself and dam well was he convincing at it. This was no exception.

"That would be us" Sherlock chirped, his voice peeking in a head turning way. "Me and my partner are here for the um… the little show thingy?" He asked innocently. The bored woman looked up and her eyes widened slightly. She suddenly didn't look so unentertained, taking in Sherlock's glorious form.

"Right this way" She said with a smile. Sherlock tucked his arm tighter around John's, making a show of it. They followed dark haired woman to the elevator and up to the second floor where they were met by a man with a matching microphone head piece.

"Hi boys. I'm Alex and I am the producer's assistant. If there are any questions just fire away" he said with a perky smile. He nodded for the young lady to take her leave, which she did but not before she got one last eye ball at Sherlock.

"I have one question" Sherlock spoke up after she left. "My partner and I want to know if there is a room we can freshen up in before the show?" John didn't want to put Sherlock's little act to shame, he was truly struggling to retain his laughter.

"Oh definitely, just follow me" Alex said and spun around, moving quickly down the narrow hallway.

"After you dear" Sherlock held out his hand to John. The smaller doctor bit down hard on his lip, stifling a giggle. "Shut up and play along" Sherlock snarled, back in his original snide way. John nodded.

"Right then…" He couldn't help himself. "Honey bunch" Sherlock threw John an icy glare that was quickly whipped away with a forced grin. They shuffled after the assistant, following after in the maze of hallways and rooms. They came to a stop outside a bright yellow door with the plaque 'guests' printed on it.

"Here you go boys. We are sending in Mary for makeup in a few minutes so behave yourselves" The spiffy young man left them with a smile and shut the door. As soon as they were out of sight Sherlock tore himself away from John, sweeping over to a hideous purple couch on the other side of the room.

"You are as subtle as a bus" Sherlock grumbled. That was when John started to laugh. He clutched at his sides as he couldn't control his fit.

"Oh my god Sherlock! We are supposed to be acting like a couple not sassy gay besties" John's own comment sent him through another chorus of chuckles.

"I want this to be believable John" Sherlock retorted.

"Yeah. You should grow a unicorn horn and sprinkle glitter everywhere while you are at it" More laughter.

"Don't be an idiot John. You are just being offensive now" Sherlock stated.

"Alright, alright. I'll stop" John said, although he had to get his last few giggled out of his system before he could speak again. "I think Mycroft will be the one to never let this go"

"Mycroft got us into this stupid 'public announcement'. He has no room to talk what with him and Lestrade"

"Pardon?" John asked, not sure if he heard that right.

"The point is that we need to be precise and convincing. In fact…" Sherlock stood, striding over to John's side. Footsteps could be heard, approaching the door.

"One…"

"Sherlock?" John asked. The footsteps were closing in around the door.

"Two…" Sherlock counted. A hand closed around the doorhandle and turned the knob.

"Three" Sherlock dipped his head down, pushing his lips up against John's ever so gently. The door opened. There was a short gasp and just as soon as Sherlock's soft pink skin touched down on John's they were away again. John felt his breath catch in his throat.

"I am sorry for interrupting" A feminie voice stuttered. "I'm the hair and makeup" Sherlock grinned again. Oh god that stupid little grin. He moved his lips towards John's ear, his voice lowering into a whisper.

"All part of the show John" His voice sent a shudder rocketing down the smaller man's spine.

_Jesus Christ I am going to strangle him one day. _John thought. Sherlock looked up at the visitor.

"No problem at all, we are just tip top" Sherlock commented cheerfully. "Now when you do my hair, can I have it parted slightly to the left?" Whilst Sherlock shifted back into character, plunging deep into a conversation about hair styles with the astounded makeup artist, John stood nailed to his place.

The tips of his fingers brushed over his bare lips. _I am definitely going to strangle him. _


	16. Plastic death trap

There was just the two of them, moving together in jerky, trembling movements. They both were just as unsure as the other but yet they continued to struggle, closing in all the gaps between their bodies. John's hands and knees shook beneath him, screaming out desperation as Sherlock twisted on top of him. The smaller man struggled for breath, panting and gasping, holding his body in place. This was the first time Sherlock had done anything like this but he was keeping up, twining his limbs through John's in a frantic shove.

After Sherlock had done his little performance for the poor makeup artist, John was mostly thrown off. That was his first completely sober and undrugged kiss with his best friend and he was certain that Sherlock didn't realise that. Never the less, Sherlock played it off smoothly, going into deep conversation with the flustered woman about how she mustn't use any foreign product on his hair or it will do 'root damage' or something or other. Following that they were whisked off to backstage and told to wait by the platform that lead out onto the stage.

They stood there in a tense silence, saying nothing, although Sherlock looked pretty dammed pleased with himself.

"Sherlock… I don't think you understand what I meant by no close contact…"

"That's what happens, John" Sherlock cut over him in a course whisper. From behind a thick black stage curtain they could hear the chattering of the host as the show had begun.

"Happens when what?" John whispered back. Sherlock shifted his hands into his pocket, sliding out his mobile phone. The screen came to life, setting a scorching light that cast shadows over Sherlock's face.

"When you humiliate me" Sherlock's voice was dark and taunting. He scrolled through his texts, ignoring John's response.

"Sherlock!" John hissed. "What the bloody hell are you on about?"

"Don't play stupid John, we already have Anderson for that" Sherlock answered, after getting a snide gesture from one of the stage workers for them to quiet down. The consulting detective tucked his phone back away, satisfied with what information he had just gathered. "I don't like being pushed up against a window in such an obviously misleading manor. It was probably the most embarrassing moment of my life and I don't want a repeat. Take my little performance as a warning."

_Is this guy serious? Is he freaking kidding me with this crap? _John felt himself fume up, his fists suddenly clenching into tight fists.

"And kissing me like that is your way of punishing me!" Sherlock's eyes snapped down to John. The cranky stage manager threw them another death glare.

"It seems to be the only way to get my message across that fits in with the criteria that we have to perform to. You become physically uncomfortable and bashful whenever I do my part to make it seem we are a couple, most likely from the intercourse we had performed on the night of the incident"

_That's right Sherlock. Shout it from the rooftops. _

"Oh so that's it. Because I 'misbehaved' you are going to treat me tenderly?" John almost laughed at the thought. "You are a bad man" Sherlock didn't reply straight away. They fell back into their silence as the stage manager marched over and clipped microphones to their shirt collars, gave them an unfriendly grunt, and moved off towards the curtain controls.

"Precisely. And it works to. Your body reacts in panic at every touch. I do find it working as an advantage for me" His threats were so simple and at the same time twisted that it reminded John of a certain consulting criminal. So this is what the receiving end of Sherlock's nasty side was.

"Well, you great prick" John started, a tiny smirk beginning to spread out over his lips. The curtains began to part, light streaming in on their faces. "Two can play at that game"

"…Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson!" There was an uproar of cheers and applause. John and Sherlock moved side by side down the steps and towards the large round leather couch in the centre of the stage, like they had earlier been instructed. All the while as they walked, the song _'Sexy and I know it'_ boomed from an unknown nearby sound system. Sherlock seemed to be unfazed by the popular hit music, although he did raise an eye brow. Standing not far away was their destination, a rather round middle aged woman wearing a colossal amount of makeup. Their host, Meredith Green, stepped forward, grabbing John warmly and giving him a peck on the cheek like an old friend would. John eased into it, taking on that familiar childhood feeling that you would get from a distant aunt but Sherlock on the other hand, almost grimaced at her painted lips on his cheek.

The ocean of sound slowly died down as Meredith plonked herself down on the pristine white leather. John and Sherlock mimicked her actions, taking a seat across from her. The audience wasn't much to behold, probably about 40 or 50 people, all women, sitting in the rows of chairs spread out behind the cameras.

"We all know of London's newest internet sensations, Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson here, but what is the true story behind their relationship?" She asked the audience, tossing a strand of her silver hair out of her eyes. "Now, you of all people must know of the hype you, worlds only consulting detective and bachelor army doctor are getting" She stated, smiling sweetly at them.

"It was an initial shock at first" John spoke in before Sherlock could. "We didn't really expect…" The smaller man suddenly stiffened as a set of long spidery fingers traced down his thigh, stopping to cup over his knee. John found his words escape his lips breathlessly. Sherlock didn't meet John's gaze, he was to busy smirking off at nothing. Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end when Sherlock gave a little squeeze.

"John didn't expect there to be so much media attention" Sherlock finished his sentence for him. John chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"The big question that is on everyone's mind right now is you, Mr Holmes" The hostess continued on, not taking notice at Sherlock subtle movements on John. "Are you really as clever as all the stories and blog entries have said?"

There was that glint in Sherlock's eye as he dove into proving himself, lining out every detail of what the hostess had done last night judging by her left ear lobe. He was actually making more of a show out of it than he usually would, taking advantage of the publicity like the show-off he was. John seized his opportunity. If it was a war Sherlock wanted it was a war he would get. The small army doctor shifted his arm around Sherlock's waist and ever to gently curl his fingers around Sherlock's hip bone. It was when he slid his hand a fraction lower Sherlock let out a yelp, cutting him off mid-sentence. John's hands were back in his lap in a flash.

Sherlock's accusing glare swung to John, his eyes practically screaming with '_I know what you are trying to do. Stop it at once' _"Are you alright?" The hostess asked, raising a curved eye brow.

"Brilliant actually," John taking his turn to answer for them.

Meredith nodded and brushed Sherlock's little shock aside, making room for more questions. "Well booze affects us in many different ways. I think both of you have seen that little performance you put on for Scotland Yard" She hinted with a smile that was returned with two hostile glances. "It is no secret that the intoxication has led to a spark in your relationship. So here is the big question all of London has been asking. Are you two a couple?"

"Yes"

"No" They were both said at the exact same time, overlapping each over. John looked up at Sherlock.

_No? I thought we agreed on yes? What is he playing at?_

"No?"

"Yes…" Again only this time John was the one to deny it.

"Well what is it boys?" The host asked. "Do we have a new romance on 221B Baker Street?"

_Oh no. Don't you back out on me now you bastard. _John let his arm travel into a lasso around Sherlock's neck. _You want embarrassing displays off affection? That is what you are going to get._

"Well Meredith. All I can say is that **it's all fine**" John said with a goofy smile. "Isn't that right, Sherly-cakes?" Sherlock's glare turned into the coldest, most nasty stare that he could possibly deliver. His eyes churned into deep swirling vortexes of embarrassment and rage and all John could do was smile back at him broadly.

There was a glint in the sleuths eye that killed John's triumph. It was the glint that told the story 'this means war'.

"Oh defiantly…" Sherlock's mind scrambled, pulling together a nickname as equally as distressing, he settled with "Johnny-buns"

_Johnny-buns? Am I type of cake now? As much as Mycroft would love that I'm not. _The hostess made a shocked face at the crowd.

"Now that is exactly what London wants to hear! When did this all start for you two?" She asked them, launching onto the story like a bloodhound on a rabbit.

"Well I can't talk for my sweet heart here" John started. "But for me it was when I found him drugged up like a dog on the floor after a woman had beaten him up" The smile on John's face was genuine. He could practically feel Sherlock grow further and further uncomfortable.

"Oh really? I thought you fell for me when I had to rescue you from being shot. You make a wonderful princess in trouble you know" Sherlock matched John's smile.

John's laugh was faker than the Botox in the hostesses face. "Oh Sherlock. Did you realise that before or after you got my name tattooed on your but?" John immediately regretted that. The crowd around them went silent, all sitting on the edge of their seats for a reply. If John could turn back time he would have stopped himself from saying that. He wanted to just grab each word out of the air and stuff them into his pocket and pretend nothing happened.

"I… uhh…" He had gone too far that time. Sherlock didn't like the feeling that was sinking down on his shoulders, the feeling that he was trapped.

"Oh Sherlock… I.." John whispered. He cleared his suddenly dry throat and glanced back at the audience. It was so quiet you could hear a penny drop. He was sick and tired of Sherlock's games. That is why John chose that moment to make his decision. No more hinting, no more arguing. This is what he decided. Sherlock looked down at John, his eyes collecting the data from John's facial features and creating a theory, but nothing could prepare him either way.

He gently placed the tips of his fingertips to Sherlock's jaw and tilted himself up again. This kiss with Sherlock was not like the others, not out of spite or alcohol or poisoned jam. No, John was kissing his best friend deeply because that is what he wanted. John could feel the rest of this thoughts drain away and centre on the taller man's warm, nervous skin tremoring back against his. He leaned back away; parting from his taller flatmate by only centimetre's to whisper. "This is not a performance"

Sherlock's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, sucking in a breath. John smiled broadly, moving back into his seat, the hint of crimson highlighting his features. With that simple gesture that only lasted for about 10 seconds, John thought to himself,_ Yes, this is what I want_.

The host got to her feet, moving towards the crowd.

"Oh. My. God!" She stated the squealing fans before her. "Well this has certainly made history ladies!" Another roar of cheers filled the space. "I have to say this is certainly not what I expected, or any of us for that matter" John felt himself grow bashful, shrinking back slightly at Meredith's overwhelmed attitude. She grinned back at the couple on the couch. "Stay tuned because right after the break we will be introducing the boys of Baker Street to a little A.M with London tradition" She gave the camera a wink as the strong lighting on her dimmed. The camera man signalled to cut rolling and almost the entire set seemed to take a sigh of relief.

"Uh… what would this tradition be?" John asked, his voice a little shaky and he didn't even bother trying to hide it.

"Oh love" She trotted over towards them. "I thought you said you watched this show?" John didn't catch what her explanation because the stage hands were explanation enough. Just over the plump hostesses shoulder, they were setting up a game and just as John had feared; it was the game that the show intended on him and Sherlock playing. The twister mat spread out in front of them, like a giant plastic death trap.


	17. Opinions

He strode down the dimly lit hallway, his shoes tapping out a rhythm that cut through the eerie silence. Sebastian Moran moved steadily towards the dark oak door. He was about to just let himself in, like he usually did, when he remembered who was on the other side. His boss, as ingenious and corrupt as he was, at the same time could be very unpredictable and Sebastian remembered the last time he had walked in on him without asking permission first. He blinked, forcing the memory back out of his mind. The gunman raised two fingers to the door and rapped twice. He paused, awaiting that voice.

"Come in" His voice sang. Mr Moran did as he was told; letting out the breath he was holding before turning the handle. He moved inside and clicked the door shut behind him. His new surroundings was a cramped little space and if it wasn't for the dozens of screens mounting the walls, the room would be pitch black. In the very centre of the room sat a smaller man in a crisp, expensive suit. His legs were folded up like a kindergartener and his fingers were webbed.

"You called, Moriarty?" Sebastian spoke strongly, not letting on any emotion.

"Yes of course I did" Jim replied, gesturing for him to approach. Sebastian strode over, taking on a formal stance by his boss's chair. "Tell me what you see Sebby" Mr Moran glanced up at the TV screen placed directly in front of them. It was one of those live morning shows the he never had the time or the patience to watch. He didn't give the two familiar figures wrapped around each over on a mat lined with multicoloured dots much thought.

"Two people playing twister and a fat lady" Sebastian stated bluntly. Jim found something amusing out of what he said and chuckled.

"What two people are playing twister?" He asked, bringing those cold black eyes up to Sebastian. The taller man watched the screen more carefully this time but the player's faces were mostly hidden. Jim let out an exasperated sigh, already exhausted by Sebastian's ignorance. "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, my dear, that is who!" He shouted. Sebastian's eyes were back to his boss.

"So?"

"So... isn't it delightful? Oh that brother of his really has outdone himself this time" Moriarty giggled again, his thin little arm sliding down over the side of the arm rest to a bottle on the floor. Out of the shadows Moriarty revealed a glass tub marked 'strawberry jam' with a metal spoon launching out of the rim. He brought the metal coated in the thick red to his lips, giving it a small lick. Sebastian's eyes shot immediately to the floor. He could hear the clicking noise of the metal clamping between Jim's jaws.

"Jim, isn't that the drugged jam you sent Holmes and his boy toy?" Sebastian peered timidly up.

"John Watson, Sebby" Jim corrected him snidely. "And yes, you have a keen eye. This is very much a jar from the 'drugged' jam batch" He slid the metal from his mouth this a damp clonk.

"And you are eating it by the spoonful?"

Moriarty was back into more mischievous giggles. The sound was purely sinister, no matter what the context. "There was never any drugs in the jam, don't be silly" Sebastian bit down on his lip. His boss wasn't just the king with the impressive crown; he was also the jester with toys to play with.

* * *

><p>"Oh turn that off" Lestrade grumbled from the opposite end of the sofa.<p>

"Sssh!"

"Come on. Flip it over to something we both want to watch"

"Gregory. This is Sherlock Holmes playing twister, although I rather detest the idea of his competitor recently sticking his tongue down my baby brother's throat, how could I turn the TV off?" Mycroft replied, a perky little grin settling on his lips. Lestrade rolled his eyes at how childish his lover could be. He took a sip of his beer and tried not to look directly at the screen.

"If you ask me, I have had enough of this Sherlock rubbish…" He muttered. Mycroft didn't miss it though, Mycroft doesn't miss anything.

"Where is your sense of humour Gregory? I am glad I am recording this, it will be useful in the future"

"I for one have seen and heard enough of Sherlock already" The detective inspector sighed.

"Work related I presume" Mycroft hinted, folding his arms smugly.

"Yeah. Everyone has a 'Sherlock and John drunk story' to share" Lestrade placed the beer on the floor gently, turning to face Mycroft. The elder Holmes whipped out the remote and pressed down on one of the buttons with his thumb. The TV suddenly was still in a freeze frame of John trying to get his legs around Sherlock's arm.

"Do tell" He slid along the couch, coming to stop at Lestrade's hip.

"Well. Anderson for one won't stop going on about how Sherlock 'sexually harassed him', Donovan has a theory that they were secretly shagging in the interrogation room and a few guys down in homicide say that John needs anger management" Lestrade grinned at Mycroft's soft chuckle. "Yes, your brother and his 'little more than a friend' have each made their mark on everyone in Scotland Yard"

"Everyone? That would include you too, would it not?" Lestrade shifted uncomfortably in his seat, cursing the fact that he had said too much. Mycroft only took his suddenly anxious demeanour as confirmation of his theory and wriggled in closer, placing his arm around the fidgety man on the couch.

"Well... there was John and…" Lestrade trailed off. Mycroft frowned.

"Spit it out. You know you can't keep anything from me, Gregory" Greg looked up at the politician and dipped his head slightly forward, brushing his lips against his cheek.

"I suppose not" He let out one more sigh before he began to tell his tale. "It was after the whole 'Yes Dance' and Sherlock was convinced that John was dead. I called for security and had them rushed off stage as you know" Mycroft nodded, painting the story in his mind. "John was still acting all passed out and Sherlock was still all flustered about it so I took them to my office to calm down…." He gulped. "I bent down to check if John was alright and the next thing I know I have his tongue all down the side of my face" He blurted the last part, getting the final sting all over and done with.

Mycroft didn't laugh. Instead he wrapped his arm just a little tighter over Lestrade's neck. He may always tease his little brother about being possessive, but deep down he knew he was the pot calling the kettle black.

"And then?"

"And then" Lestrade continued. "John praised me for bringing him back to life and Sherlock got jealous. He grabbed onto John and said that he was 'his John' and told me it was about time I leave. I did. I left to get someone to drive them back home and the only available person was Anderson. The thing I regret was coming back to find Sherlock and John snogging on my desk" He took another gulp full of beer as an aid to help erase the sudden flashback.

Mycroft's smirk turned into the smile he only saved for Gregory Lestrade. Without much warning, his lips were brought to the detective inspectors, forming a mask over the others. It wasn't fiery or needy or gentle. Infact, it was exactly what Mycroft always described his brother to be. Possesive. He pulled back, and in Lestrade's opinion far too quickly.

"Well, Detective Inspector. If it makes you feel any better" He placed his head on the man's shoulder. "You are my Greg"

* * *

><p>Sherlock was never good in sports class, or any physical activity that wasn't necessary for that matter. Twister was a game that 12 year olds played at sleep overs and since he never had any experience in that field his body became a hopeless machine during the game. Whilst Sherlock moved his hands and feet stubbornly around the slippery plastic, John on the other hand was doing incredibly well. Sherlock often found himself clinging to his smaller counterpart for dear life as he felt his body threaten to collapse beneath him.<p>

"J-j-j-john" His voice jittered, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead and plunging off his nose. He currently had his legs curled around John's and his arms reaching out under John's arched torso. His face hovered close to John's, his breathing thick and heavy on the Doctor's skin.

"Oh god. Screw you Mycroft" He grunted with the remainder of his breath. Sherlock rumbled out a slight huff of a laugh.

"Alright boys!" The host called out, her voice dripping with delight. "Sherlock, left leg blue" She commanded as the dial in her hand came to a stop. Sherlock glanced down, weaving his vision through the tangle of limbs. He held his breath as he edged his foot forward, feeling it scrape up between John's legs. John felt his eyes snap open wide as Sherlock's thigh grazed his own hotly. He licked his lips and blinked a few times, suddenly registering the travel destination. When the cap of Sherlock's knee came to a sudden stop between John's legs, the army doctor let out a strangled whimper like an injured puppy. The pressure on the sensitive area sent the nerves along John's legs into a sudden spasm. He released the breath he was holding as he felt his body come crashing down.

His face bounced against a warm, fabric surface. The doctor's pillow let out a rush of air as he was brought down to the floor, his head banging against the icy plastic. John felt his head rise and fall with Sherlock's breathing, his face placed directly over the taller man's rapidly beating heart. His body tensed as Sherlock tried to pull his limbs up. John felt his legs roll off Sherlock's and to the floor on either side of him. He joined the man, yanking his aching body from the ground. The position they replaced themselves in wasn't exactly better. John found himself sitting up on Sherlock's lap, staring down at the pale man's flushed face. John placed his hands over Sherlock's shoulders and gave a weary smile. That was the moment in the eventful morning that he smiled upon later back at 221B Baker Street, the look of absolute exhaustion and bashful confusion that Sherlock wore on his face. And god did John love it. It was completely foreign and out of character, like finding a dog on hind legs.

As John was sitting down in his chair later that night, he found himself putting down his book and just sitting there thinking how much everything had changed over the course of a couple of days and it was all over drinks. He felt the warm gold band around his finger, slowly adjusting to the sensation. He was married. To Sherlock Holmes. A man he had slept with, danced like a fool with, jumped into Subways with, run in terror of being disrobed with, gotten handcuffed to and most importantly, laughed so much with. It was a funny thing though, John was happy how this all had ended. It could have been worse. They could have accidently adopted a child as well and ended up raising a miniature Sherlock.

"John" Sherlock's voice interrupted his thoughts. He snapped his head around to face the detective.

"Yeah?"

"I made you a nice hot coffee" Sherlock stepped forward, thrusting the mug into his hand. John blinked at the gesture.

"Oh… thank-you" He took the cup from Sherlock's hand and held it out in front of him. His nose wrinkled at what was actually sloshing around in his cup.

"Sherlock. This is strawberry milk"

"Yes it is"

"Strawberry milk you mixed with boiling water"

"Excellent observation" Sherlock plonked himself down across from John in his own chair. The sandy blond man didn't know whether Sherlock was trying to be funny or whether he seriously expected him to drink it. The expectant look on the detectives face was very self-explanatory. John took a hesitant sip and held back a puking sensation, placing the mug on the floor beside him.

"Heard anything from Mycroft?" John asked, drawing the subject away from the boiled milk monstrosity.

"Today he is spending his time at home with Lestrade" Sherlock glanced at his watch. "Wait 30 more minutes. Lunch time is approaching and I am sure he will break his physical activates for some kind of sugar coated meal"

_Physical activi- Oh I didn't need that mental image_ John thought.

"Hope he got the show he wanted" John grunted.

"All of London got the show they wanted. I have received a many text messages and I wouldn't be surprised if you have as well"

"Who has been texting you?" John asked, curious as to know who would really care enough about Sherlock's romantic life to be asking.

"Molly Hooper, she seems disappointed in the outcome and is asking many tedious questions" Sherlock replied. "I didn't reply to them"

"You can still talk to women Sherlock" John chuckled. Sherlock raised an eye brow, not seeing the humour behind John's words.

"I know" Sherlock stated, curling himself up in his chair. "I just thought I should let you know. You do like to know things" His voice trailed off, his mind setting to work and his fingers webbing together over some unsolved problem. John nodded and lifted his book back to eye level, taking the hint that the conversation had ended. There was a long pause before Sherlock spoke once again. "If you don't want to read… There is still one video you haven't seen on Anderson's phone"

John glanced up at the detective but he had his back turned. John considered it for a minute and ended up taking Sherlock's advice. Whatever video it would contain would have to be pretty bazaar to surprise John in the slightest. Perhaps Sherlock got hold of a unicycle and did a circus act or they went skinny dipping in the Thames? John crossed the room to the space where John had last left the phone. It was lying face up on the floor boards, next to a box of spilt matches. He lifted up the chunky grey Nokia in his palm and teased the 'on' button. The screen came to life.

John was wrong. The video didn't involve any nudity or acrobats but it sure did give the doctor a shock. He let out a sound that was mix between a gasp and moan.

"I see you found it then"

**AUTHORS NOTE TIME: Oh my fans god bless you all. It has been so much fun writing this and really gave me something to do. Stay tuned for the final chapter coming out sometime during the week. I'm only adding it in because of popular demand and you won't be disappointed, I swear on Anderson's stupidity. **


	18. Everyone's Favourite

**AN: G'day g'day g'day! (getting a bit of my Australian culture in there as it would seem). Final chapter hey? Sad oh so emotional! Thanks to all the people who favourited it and commented, you are legends and I always get excited about it. As you know, all good things must come to an end. Hope you enjoyed it! I wish i could do some shout outs to my frequant readers but there are a lot to go through **

**(not meaning to brag or anything...) **

**(ok just to brag a little) Thumbs up to the readers, you be sexy fine I know it! (sexy fine? Well... ok then let's go with those words of description)**

* * *

><p>Weddings were all the same in John's opinion. The clichéd blushing bride being marched down the aisle in a white dress, awaiting her betrothed at the altar, the crowd all swooning and cheering when those lines 'you may now kiss the bride' were said by the chuffed priest and of course, the wedding bells sounding as the husband and wife walk arm in arm together, smiling and happy for everyone to see. The wedding that was playing on the small digital screen was anything but. The doctor was curious as to know how, honestly anything, went down on that drunken night, the wedding included.<p>

The scene started completely blank, the crackling sound of laughter radiating from the phone's miniature speakers. The camera spun frantically around as light began to fill in the frame. The camera centred in on a familiar smirking face.  
>"Alright. It is about…" Anderson checked his watch. "… Midnight now and we are at the Cathedral. Sally, you will never guess what Boob 1 and Boob 2 are going to do next" He laughed into receiver. John grimaced at his newly found nick-name. The camera spun off Anderson's oily face and to the handle of a grand oak door. John watched as Anderson recorded his pale hand reaching out and twisting the nob and then marching through. The camera view was suddenly lit up with the high ceiling and stain glass windows of the ancient British Cathedral.<p>

"John!" His voice bounced around them, echoing along the rows and rows of empty church pews.

"Yeehoo!" Sang a voice at the end of the aisle. The camera jittered as Anderson broke into a run, sprinting down the carpet and up to the man standing unsteadily by the stone altar.

"Johnny. You excited? You pumped for this?" Anderson jeered, poking him. John's drunken eyes looked up into the camera for only a second before dipping back down.

"Sher… Sherlly is going to be my wife" He muttered. He suddenly grasped hold of Anderson's free hand, pulling him closer. "Me and Sherlock. Sherlock and me" A lame grin spread out from ear to ear across John's face as he thought about the words he just slurred. Anderson tried to tug away from the pissed drunk doctor but that only made John's grip tighten further. "You know what Anderson? Since you are pretty much a prick and are going to die alone… I just have this to say…" John looped his arm around the officer, rolling his head lazily. "You never know who you are going to fall for" The camera shook as Anderson squirmed himself free, muttering some lame comeback as he went.

"Excuse me" A rough voice from outside the frame grumbled. The video spun away from John and back to a man with deep wrinkles and silver hair. The vicar adjusted his collar as he strode towards them, an unimpressed look on his face. "I am sure that it would be inappropriate to hold the ceremony when the couple are in this…" he wrinkled his nose "…state"

"I paid you already. Just a quick, I pronounce you husband and husband" Anderson replied in a hushed tone. The priest furrowed his brow, not entirely convinced. Anderson sighed. "Look. Trust me on this. They have been gearing up to get married for a while now and this is how they want it done. Right John?"

John was currently sticking his head in a nearby flower vase, sniffing at the white and pink orchids absently. "Wahh?"

"You want to marry Sherlock, don't you?"

"Our children will be short and smart" Was John's answer.

"And if that is not true love then I don't know what is" Anderson stated. The priest shook his head, giving up on his little protest.

_Leave it to Anderson to cheat a priest_

The minister stood at the altar, sliding a bible from the table and holding it in his palms. He nodded in Anderson's direction. "Send the other one in"

"Right away Father" Even though Anderson's face wasn't in the frame, it was obvious that he was grinning wildly. The camera swerved around as Anderson trotted over to the large organ by the side of the chapel. He tapped out a few notes on the ancient keys, the sound exploding into the space. That was Sherlock's queue and as usual, he did not fail to make a grand entrance. The double doors launched themselves open, screeching on their hinges as they were blown back.

Sherlock stood in the centre of the arched doorway. The sight was truly priceless. Anderson's laughter joined in on the crashing echo that rang out around them. John knew it wasn't the right moment, and if Sherlock was paying attention to him right now he certainly wouldn't be laughing, but he simply couldn't control the fits of giggles that escaped his lips. The drunken Sherlock in the video stood proud and tall, a bunch of wilted flowers clutched between his palms. Draping over his face was a dark plastic trash bag that was supposed to be acting as a veil. It covered the detective's expression entirely, along with his line of vision. As Sherlock began to march forward down the aisle, the identical trash bag skirt around his waist fluttered gracefully with a gentle _swish swish swish_.

Anderson's wolf whistle pierced the air. "Going to the chapel and we're, gunnu get ma-a-a-rried!" He sang out. The camera turned to face John and the priest. The Vicar rolled his eyes and let his palm fall to his forehead, letting out an exasperated sigh, unlike the man standing next to him. John's eyes were watering, the small tears glimmering in the light of the overhanging lights.

"He looks… beautiful. Like an…" John wet his lips, sorting through his mind for the right word. "Like an angel"

Sherlock's pace quickened at the sound of John's voice, which was extremely hazardous due to his lack of vision. The consulting detective found himself charging into one of the pews and falling head first into the wooden seat. That only made Anderson double over in laughter, as it was probably the most entertaining thing he had ever witnessed in his life time. Sherlock was back on his feet, after surviving a desperate struggle with the chair. He shoved the veil out of the way proudly, flicking it over his head and making his face finally visible.

"You're okay baby!" John called out. "Just walk it off. Walk it off babe" He encouraged his betrothed. Sherlock completed his march promptly, striding up the steps of the altar to meet John. He took the smaller man's hands in his and let out a long breath.

"What's the matter? Stage fright?" John asked with a giggle.

"No. Churches are strange for me, love" Sherlock stared at the priest intensely like he was studying a lab specimen. "I find it awkward that now there are two Gods in the same room together"

The Vicar gave an almost begging glance to Anderson which was retaliated with a casual wave.

"Just go with it" Anderson whispered out from behind the camera. The priest certainly didn't want to 'just go with it' but he felt he had no choice. Getting it over and done with was his newest priority.

"Beloved, we are gathered here tonight to celebrate the holy matrimony between a…" He checked the note that Anderson had scribbled down in his palm. "Sherlick Holmes and John Wonton?"

"**Sherlock** Holmes and John **Watson**" Anderson corrected with a sharp hiss.

"…Sherlock Holmes and John Watson" The Vicar corrected himself. Sherlock and John were too captivated by each other at that moment to truly care. "The bible tells us this, from Proverbs, that '_Many a man claims to have unfailing love, but a faithful man who can-_'"

"John. You are so… cuddly you know that?" Sherlock interrupted, rocking back and forth on his heels. He leaned down to John's ear and began to mumble away. His words caused John's eyes to widen in shock.

"_-__find? The righteous man leads a blameless-"_ The priest continued, his eye brow arching in irritation at Sherlock's mutterings. He did his best to ignore the pair.

"Sherlock… be decent. That part comes after the wedding..." John stammered, a harsh blush flushing out his cheeks. Sherlock giggled in response, nipping at John's ear lobe cheekily.

"_-life; blessed are his children after him…"_ The priest's voice began to tremor furiously.

"I'll have you right here on the Church pews… my sweet John" Sherlock's voice dipped low, hushing seductively in John's ear. The clang of the bible in the priest's hands snapping shut caused both men to flinch.

"WOULD YOU MORONS SHUT UP?" The Vicar exploded, fuming red. Sherlock slouched off John, tossing his veil dramatically. The priest looked like he was about to explode. He snapped over at Anderson. "I don't care how much you pay me. Get these two horny idiots out of my Church before I call the police!"

"With all due respect Father, we are the police" Anderson teased, which was not the best idea. The elderly priest's knuckles were going white as he gripped tighter onto his Bible. "Please, just cut to the chase and we will be out of your hair in no time" The priest looked like he was about to argue and thought against it. They weren't going to leave without making it official, which was for sure. He turned around and slammed his bible on the altar. When spun back, Sherlock had pounced back onto John, his face pressing up against John's neck and little moaning sounds vibrating from him.

As the parish leader, the Father also had to attend many functions and Bible camps held for teenagers. Because of this, he had grown rather skilled in the art of peeling one from another in no time. The snapped his hands out, coiling them into the roots of John's and Sherlock's hair and giving a sharp yank. The two were torn from each other, a string of drool being the only thing left connecting them. John wiped his neck with the back of his sleeve, mopping away the translucent puddle Sherlock's tongue left behind.

"Do either of you buffoons have rings?" The priest growled.

Sherlock and John exchanged looks. John shook his head, a pout spreading out over his lips.

"Naw… I don't think so" The expression on the army doctor's face made it looked like he was about to burst into tears. Sherlock cupped his hands to John's face, his hazy mind whirring for a way to solve the situation.

"I got it!" Sherlock struck a finger in the air.

"Oh joy" The priest muttered sarcastically. John watched with now hopeful eyes as Sherlock slid his fingers through his curly dark locks. His overall production was two crisped onion rings that had nested their way into his hair previously. He held them out on his palm to the priest.

"Will this do?" He asked. The priest stared long and hard at the golden brown fried crisps. He gave a shrug.

"If it gets you out of here…" He muttered darkly. That was good enough for Sherlock. He took John's hand in his.

"I, Sherlock Holmes, take thee, John Watson, to be my lawfully wedded wife" John bit his lip as he grinned. Sherlock slid the greasy snack food up John's ring finger, leaving an oily trail behind. "Forever and forever" He proclaimed. John snatched up the remaining onion ring from Sherlock.

"And I, John Watson" He grasped hold of Sherlock's wrist and forced the ring up his slender finger. "Take thee, Sherlock Holmes, as my own lawfully wedded wife. Until the end of the universe" They both turned expectantly to the priest. He pressed two fingers to his temple and rubbed away a forming headache.

"By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife" He said dully. "You may now…" His nose wrinkled. "Kiss the goddam bride" The Vicar stormed off the alter, stalking out of the frame before he had to witness any more of this rubbish.

Sherlock let out an odd high pitched cheer and wrapped his arms around John. He kicked his legs up and fell into his newly wedded husband's arms, stuffing his bouquet of flowers down John's shirt. His kiss was anything but traditional. It resembled more of two rampant teenagers in a darkened movie theatre than a gentle symbol of affection that most wedding kisses were.

"Congratulations Mr Holmes" Sherlock purred breathlessly.

"And as to you, Mr Watson" John held his bride closer as he began to struggle his way down the aisle. The words they were exchanging as they made their way towards the open night were blurred out by Anderson's intense laughter. The final seconds of the video were blurred by his trembling hands. The ended curtly, the screen blanking out into nothing.

John could be mad. He could be embarrassed. He could be scared. Those kinds of reactions would have been more usual but hey, when was anything that ever happened to John usual? He slid the phone into his shirt pocket, grinning to himself. Sherlock was now watching him cautiously from his position on the couch. The question on his mind was written out plain as day in his expression.

John nodded to his partner, his husband, and now that he thought about it, the person he loved.

"That, Sherlock Watson, was my favourite video"


End file.
